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Jeg var uengasjert på jobben og jeg var det vel delvis også hjemme. Min kone hadde kommentert det flere ganger. Hun trodde det var henne det var noe feil med og jeg lot henne tro det, i mangel på en bedre forklaring. Det er jo helt uholdbart å innrømme at det er en selv det er noe i veien med. I hvert fall så lenge noen andre står klar til å ta på seg skylden.

Jeg kjente feberen i bakhue igjen, nå som en kald redsel. Det var glassvegg mellom oss. Jeg kunne ikke nå dem. Jeg var utvist igjen. Ville ikke miste dem også.

I felt, that night, on that stage, under that skull, incredibly close to everything in the universe, but also extremely alone. I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it? What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming?

You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.

Jeg snakket mer enn jeg hadde gjort siden pappa døde, fortalte hele historien, om meg. Jeg tenkte at der går historien min, rett inn i ørene hans og blir i kroppen hans så lenge han vil. Og om han slipper den, har den i alle fall vært der.

April er den ensomste av alle måneder man kan tilbringe alene. I april går alle mennesker rundt og ser glade og fornøyde ut. De kaster frakken, sitter og prater i solskinnet, spiller ball, får seg kjæreste. Bare jeg var helt alene.

Jeg gikk inn i huset og trakk for gardinene, men duften av vår klarte jeg ikke å stenge ute. Den var overalt, og det eneste den fikk meg til å tenke på, var forråtnelse. Jeg satt bak fortrukne gardiner og forbannet våren og alt den brakte med seg. Det var et tungt, gnagende hat som kom langt innefra. Aldri noen gang hadde jeg hatet noe så sterkt og intenst.

It is afternoon, it is night, it is morning. Everything is reduced to this bed, this endless slumber that make the days into one day, makes time stop, stretches and compacts time until it is meaningless.

I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?

'Love', this English word: like other English words it has tense. 'Loved' or 'will love' or 'have loved'. All these specific tenses mean Love is time-limited thing. Not infinite. It only exists in particular period of time. In Chinese, Love is '爱' (ai). It has no tense. No past and future. Love in Chinese means a being, a situation, a circumstance. Love is existence, holding past and future. If our love existed in Chinese tense, then it will last for ever. It will be infinite.

Everyone tries to be an optimist. But being an optimist is a bit boring and not honest. Losers are more interesting than winners.

My body is in Berlin, but my heart is left in London, left for you.

My love to you is like a lighthouse, always searching something special about you. And you are special. But I don´t know if you think me in the same way.

You look at me and you say: 'It´s like the way you came into my life. I feel as if I am not naked anymore.'

In China we say hundreds of reincarnations bring two peoples to same boat. Maybe you are that people for me to be same boat.

But I didn´t say no. I didn´t say no because between safety and adventure I choose adventure. Plus, I thought it would be great crack, getting to meet all these muckety-mucks, and truthfully, as a new American I felt it would somehow be unpatriotic to refuse a chance to make a fool of myself in front of the president, who, after all, had no problem doing exactly that in front of the entire world.

It was such an unlikely collection of people that it actually felt like a dream. So much so, that more than once I checked to see if I was wearing pants, something I often do, just in case. With a past like mine it´s never a bad idea.

(...) but America is the land of the second, third and 106th chance.