Several months later, and I have finally read one of the three (books), even though I wanted to read all three of them immediately. What happened in between? Other books, is what happened. Other books, other moods, other obligations, other appetites, other reading journeys.

That was his mother. When she wasn't crying over the breakfast cereal, she was laughing about killing herself.

I have a really low boredom threshold.

On New Year's Eve he ould make a resolution to recover some his previous scepticism, but until then he would do as the Romans do, and smile at people even if he disapproved of them

It's no wonder we're all such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it.

The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product.

I miss him like one might miss a scar, or wooden leg, something disfiguring but characteristic.