“It’s my job really, to help you, my reader, in accepting things as real that aren’t. Most books try to get you to accept things that, at the very least, could be real – and that’s difficult enough, goodness knows – but here, in this book, nothing seems to be even trying to be real. Except, I would say, me. I’m here, I’m real. And to be honest, I’ve never been here before. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what I’m doing. In some ways, I’m afraid this is the most real story I’ve ever written.”

“Real life is messy and hard and never turns out like I’ve imagined. Usually it’s better. So, I try not to dream but rather to pray. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I have no clue what I want. I’m fickle. I’m picky. And I’m scared of a lot of things. Especially commitment.”

“I’m in love with you Renata. I know I’m not a poet – shit, not even close. I don’t have all the fancy words I wish I could say to you … but I want you to know that what I’m feeling for you is real. I love you.”

“I’m sorry for all the secrecy, for making you feel like you weren’t important enough to know the real me. But I’m most sorry because I have fucked you – I don’t know how many times – and never made love to you.”

“The closer I get, the faster I have to go. Otherwise, I might be late to the very place where I’m not even expected. Adding to my tardiness is the fact that I don’t even know where I’m going. And I can’t get from here to there when I don’t even know where I am, let alone where I’m going. All I know is I’m going fast, but not fast enough.”

“In fact, there is no such thing as character, something fixed and final. The real thing is something that novelists don’t know how to write about. Or, if they tried, the end result would never be a novel. Real people are strangely difficult to make sense out of. Even a god would have his hands full trying. But maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, presuming that other people are a mess just because I’m put together in such a disorderly way. If so, I should apologize.”