“We were kept busy learn­ing. We had a mil­lion facts to re­mem­ber.”

“Ev­ery­thing you re­mem­ber is wrong.”

“We thought all this teaching was to make us smart. What it did was make us stupid. With all the little facts we learned, we never had the time to think.”

“I won­der if run­ning is just an­oth­er fix to a fix to a fix to a fix to a fix to a prob­lem I can’t re­mem­ber.”

“Don’t ask me when be­cause I don’t re­mem­ber, but some­where along the way I keep for­get­ting to com­mit sui­cide.”

“With all the lit­tle facts we learned, we nev­er had the time to think. None of us ev­er con­sid­ered what life would be like clean­ing up af­ter a stranger ev­ery day. Wash­ing dish­es all day. Feed­ing a stranger’s chil­dren. Mow­ing a lawn. All day. Paint­ing hous­es. Year af­ter year.”

“I don’t ex­pect you to un­der­stand,” Adam says. “You’re still the eight-​year-​old sit­ting in school, sit­ting in church, be­liev­ing ev­ery­thing you’re told. You re­mem­ber pic­tures in books. They planned how you’d live your whole life. You’re still asleep.”