i thought about life, about my life, the embarrassments, the little coincidences, the shadows of alarm clocks on bedside tables, i thought about my small victories and everything i'd seen destroyed. i'd swum through mink coats on my parents' bed while they hosted downstairs, i'd lost the only person with whom i could have spent my only life, i'd left behind a thousand tonnes of marble from which i could have released sculptures, i could have released myself from the marble of myself, i'd experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough? the end of suffering does not justify the suffering.

Author: Jonathan Safran Foer