The job of the artist is to point at things.

I asked myself if I would kill my parents to save his life, a question I had been posing since I was fifteen. The answer always used to be yes. But in time, all those boys had faded away, and my parents were still there. I was now less and less willing to kill them for anyone; in fact, I worried for their health. In this case, however, I had to say yes. Yes, I would.

There was nothing in this world that was not a con, suddenly I understood this. Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

This person realizes that staying home means blowing off everyone this person has ever known. But the desire to stay in is very strong. This person wants to run a bath and then read in bed.

If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have?

It was a small thing, but it was a thing, and things have a way of either dying or growing, and it wasn’t dying.

I definitely wanted much more normalness than what was around me.