Lunch." I said. "Immediately. I'm going to wither away to absolutely nothing. Then you'll be racked with guilt." "I doubt it.

It was the perfect moment to tell her. This is my last year. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. I wanted another minute, another hour, another night of pretending this wasn’t the end.

I do all of my good thinking at over 65 miles per hour. The speed limit is, luckily, the same speed as my brainstorming speed.

if you were really busy, you could almost forget about it, but when you stopped moving, it was murder

[I]t just makes me tired even thinking about it. It reminds me of that feeling I had before I left. Like my lungs were made of lead. Like I can't even think about starting to care about anything. Like I either wish that they were all dead, or I was, because I can't stand the pull of all that history between us. That's before I even pick up the phone. I'm so tired I never want to wake up again. But I've figured out now that it was never them that made me feel that way. It was just me, all along.

I have a certain avoidance of reality that makes fantasy an ideal choice for me.

Mum once told Dad that vices are only vices when looked at through the frame of society.