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"Når du tenker på det, kan du begynne å lure på om ikke hukommelsen er menneskets drivstoff. Om erindringene i seg selv er så viktige eller ikke, betyr kanskje ikke så mye, så lenge de bærer livet framover. De er jo bare drivstoff. Aviser, reklamesedler, filosofiske tekster, pornobilder og bunter med titusenyensedler - når du slenger det på bålet, er det jo bare papir, alt sammen. Ilden tenker ikke, når den fortærer papiret: 'Oi dæggern, det var Kant!' eller 'Jøss, det var kveldsutgaven av Yomiuri' eller 'Wow, sjekk de puppene!' For ilden er alt det samme papiret. Og akkurat sånn er det med minnene også. Hukommelsen skiller ikke mellom viktige, ikke fullt så viktige og aldeles ubetydelige minner, for den er alle minner drivstoff, hverken mer eller mindre."

Han kaster et blikk på vegguret. 04:33. Sekundviseren dreier glidende over urskiven. Verden fortsetter evinnelig og uopphørlig sin gang. Teori og praksis smelter sømløst sammen. Så lenge det varer.

Tonnie satt stadig og så på den andres øyne. Blikket i dem kom ifra en helt annen verden, en verden hvor alt var skygger, og hvor ingen ting var fast og klart og enkelt. Alfred bodde allerede nå i et land som var uten oppe og nede eller høyre og venstre; i hans land var alt mulig, og alt kunne skje.

“I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely.”

“The so-called 'psychotically depressed' person who tries to kill herself doesn't do so out of quote 'hopelessness' or any abstract conviction that life's assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in who Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from buring windows. The terror of falling from a great height is still as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire's flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling 'Don't!' and "Hang on!', can understand the jump. Not really. You'd have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling”

“That everybody is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else.”

“It did what all ads are supposed to do: create an anxiety relievable by purchase.”

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.”

“Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic and a dyslexic?"

"I give."

"You get someone who stays up all night torturing himself mentally over the question of whether or not there's a dog.”

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint

And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.

I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have.

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.