You can't recall someone whose name has worn away.

If you have only one life, you cant altogether ignore the question: are you enjoying it?

Life can be lived at a remove. You trade in futures, and then you trade in derivatives of futures. Banks make more money trading derivatives than they do trading actual commodities.

The past was suddenly rushing in on me in a way I found hard to fight.

In the 1970s, British food was beginning to get good, whereas in France it was just starting its long, sad decline. My most memorable meals, however, have been in Italy.

Knowing one was comprised of recycled matter only and that selfhood was a delusion did not take away the aching of the heart.

The thought of all that happiness was hard to bear. What's the point of happiness when all it does is throw the facts of dying into clear relief?