People hurt each other. That's what people do.

I tried to think about other things. I tried to invent optimistic inventions. But the pessimistic ones were extremely loud.

I tried the key in all the doors, even though he said he didn't recognize it. It's not that I didn't trust him, becuase I did. It's that at the end of my search I wanted to be able to say: I don't know how I could have tried harder.

I'm less worried about accomplishment - as younger people always can't help but be - and more concerned with spending my time well, spending time with my family, and reading, learning things.

Why do I write? It's not that I want people to think I am smart, or even that I am a good writer. I write because I want to end my loneliness.

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

We all choose things, and we also all choose against things. I want to be the kind of person who chooses for more than chooses against.