Sometimes I'm afraid to go to sleep because of what I'm leaving behind.

Is it possible to tell the truth in a society of lies? Or must you always, of necessity, become a liar?

Time and space recede and blast away like a universe expanding forever outward, and leaving only darkness and the two of us on its periphery, darkness and breathing and touch.

That’s a funny thing: you think, when awful things happen, everything else just stops, like you would forget to pee and eat and get thirsty, but it’s not really true. It’s like you and your body are two separate things, like your body is betraying you, chugging on, idiotic and animal, craving water and sandwiches and bathroom breaks while your world falls apart.

Less than a month ago all of August still stretched before us - long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.

I just want to be normal, like everybody else." "Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?

I'm used to a feeling of doubleness, of thinking one thing and having to do another, a constant tug-of-war.