I have never in all my life considered you other people.

It's far less important to me to be liked these days than to be understood.

You were ambitious - for your life, what it was like when you woke up in the morning, and not for some attainment. Like most people who did not answer a particular calling from an early age, you placed work beside yourself; any occupation would fill up your day but not your heart. I liked that about you. I liked it enormously.

It's an apathy so absolute that it's like a hole you might fall in.

But what's so great about being a perfectionist?... You do all this work, and then the stuff you've made just pisses you off.

When Mexico enjoys an economic boom while the U.S. is in dire fiscal straights, it seemed perfectly credible that Mexico would not roll out the welcome mat for unemployed Americans.

I was mortified by the prospect of becoming hopelessly trapped in someone else's story.