But it never ceases to amaze me how difficult the things that are supposed to be instinctive really are.

The world was made up of people putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time.

The least planned part of the journey, however, was the journey itself.

He must have driven this way countless times, and yet he had no memory of the scenery. He must have been so caught up in the day's agenda, and arriving punctually at their destination, that the land beyond the car had been no more than a wash of one green, and a backdrop of one hill. Life was very different when you walked through it.

The past was the past; there was no escaping your beginnings.

After the two drinks, she felt warm inside, and slightly indistinct at the edges.

You got up, and you did something. And if trying to find a way when you don't even know you can get there isn't a small miracle; then I don't know what is.