He needed to exist only in the present, without guilt, without expectation.

Thy only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die, John and Mary die, John and Mary die.

It's probably a form of childish curiosity that keeps me going as a fiction writer. I ... want to open everybody's bureau drawers and see what they keep in there. I'm nosy.

If he wants to be an asshole, it's a free country. Millions before him have made the same life choice.

A language is everything you do.

The farther north you go, the fewer fruits and vegetables there are. What kind of apple trees do you suggest the Inuit get their apples from? And how much oil is expended transporting such things out there? It's an equation.

I doubt that Canada will be seen forever on the international stage as Mr/s Boring Niceperson, as has been the habit.