Life of Pi

by Yann Martel

If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.

You come to a turnstile. You distractedly pay a small sum of money. You move on. You see a low wall. What can you expect beyond a low wall? Certainly not a shallow pit with two mighty Indian rhinoceros. But that is what you find.

Only when they threw me overboard did I begin to have doubts.

You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did.

If thirst can be so taxing that even God Incarnate complains about it, imagine the effect on a regular human.

I saw my suffering for what it was, finite and insignificant, and I was still.