“At twenty life was like wrestling an octopus. Every moment mattered. At thirty it was a walk in the country. Most of the time your mind was somewhere else. By the time you got to seventy, it was probably like watching snooker on the telly.”

“She’s had the moment. A moment isn’t a piece of time, it’s a question. A realization. A trauma. The moment comes when you look up and see your life stretching out for seventy more years….Is this life good enough for the next seventy years?”

“Kit, you're forty. You look thirty. You act...well, never mind. You're carrying on like you think you're seventy”

“The moment isn't a piece of time; it's a question. The moment comes when you look up and see your life stretching out for seventy more years. And there, in front of you, like a giant roadblock, is the question: Is this life good enough for the next seventy years? But maybe that's the easy question. The next logical question--Can I live like this?--is the killer. Because it isn't a yes or no kind of question. It's a do or die kind of question.I avoid moments.”

“You know how every now and then, you have a moment where your whole life stretches out ahead of you like a forked road, and even as you choose one gritty path you've got your eyes on the other the whole time, certain that you're making a mistake.”

“You are told from the moment you enter school that time is constant. It never changes. It is one of those set things in life that you can always rely on... much like death and taxes. There will always be sixty seconds in a minute. There will always be sixty minutes in an hour. And there will always be twenty-four hours in a day. Time was not fluctuating. It moved on at the same, constant pace at every moment in your life. And that was the biggest load of crap that I'd ever been taught in school.”