I used to believe, although I don't now, that growing and growing up are analogous, that both are inevitable and uncontrollable processes. Now it seems to me that growing up is governed by the will, that one can choose to become an adult, but only at given moments. These moments come along fairly infrequently -during crises in relationships, for example, or when one has been given the chance to start afresh somewhere- and one can ignore them or seize them.

We were little animals, which is not to imply that by the end of the week we were tearing our tank tops off; just that, metaphorically speaking, we had begun to sniff each other's bottoms, and we did not find the odor entirely repellent.

That’s why; he’s worried about how his life is turning out, and he’s lonely, and lonely people are the bitterest of them all

Everything's complicated, even those things that seem flat in their bleakness or sadness.

You just have to smile and take it, otherwise it would drive you mad.

Every time people force themselves to carry on with a book they're not enjoying, they reinforce the idea that reading is a duty.

But the internet had changed everything: nobody was forgotten anymore.