I release you, my beautiful and terrible fear. I release you. You were my beloved and hate twin, but now, I don't know you as myself

Books, you know, Charles, are like lobster-shells. We surround ourselves with ’em, and then we grow out of ’em and leave ’em behind, as evidences of our earlier stages of development.

And all I managed, barely, was endurance.

She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life.

Written By Jonathan Safran Foer

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