All I can hope for is a reconstruction: the way love feels is always only approximate.

It isn't running away they're afraid of. We wouldn't get far. It's those other escapes, the ones you can open in yourself, given a cutting edge.

Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.

Winning intoxicates you, and numbs you to the sufferings of others.

As I was whizzing around the United States on yet another demented book tour, getting up at four in the morning to catch planes, doing two cities a day, eating the Pringle food object out of the mini-bar at night as I crawled around on the hotel room floor, too tired even to phone room service, I thought, 'There must be a better way of doing this'.

It made him feel invisible—not that he wanted to feel anything else.

A divorce is like an amputation: you survive it, but there's less of you.