If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you'd be doomed. You'd be ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to.

I’m not used to girls, or familiar with their customs. I feel awkward around them, I don’t know what to say. I know the unspoken rules of boys, but with girls I sense that I am always on the verge of some unforeseen, calamitous blunder.

Despite their cool poses they wear their cravings on the outside, like the suckers on a squid. They want it all.

People dressed in a certain kind of clothing are never wrong. Also they never fart.

It's rather useless to write a gripping narrative with nothing in it but climate change because novels are always about people even if they purport to be about rabbits or robots.

He considers me also a little fragile because artistic. I need to be cared for, like a potted plant.

His father was self-made, but his mother was constructed by others, and such edifices are notoriously fragile.