If it weren't my life, I wouldn't have believed it.

I wanted so much to have a life. Even just once, even for a second.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to shout myself into his ear.

Writing's funny, it's like walking down a hall in the dark looking for the light switch, and suddenly you find it, flip it on, and then you discover the hallway you passed through is papered with the novel you've written.

Isn't it strange how upset people get about a few dozen baseball players taking growth hormones, when we're doing what we're doing to our food animals and feeding them to our children?

The images of his infinite pasts and infinite futures washed over him as he waited, paralyzed, in the present.

It will never be the case that people won't eat meat. I think it could conceivably be the case one day that people eat very small amounts of it. That it's a special thing, rather than reach for it because it's cheap or reach for it because it's convenient, that it becomes something festive or something celebratory, once a week, and that could actually be achieved on small farms if we really changed our habits.