The Book of My Lives

by Aleksandar Hemon

the rare moment of transcendence that might be familiar to those who play sports with other people; the moment, arising from the chaos of the game, when all your teammates occupy an ideal position on the field; the moment when the universe seems to be arranged by a meaningful will that is not yours; the moment that perishes—as moments tend to—when you complete a pass. And all you are left with is a vague, physical, orgasmic memory of the evanescent instant when you were completely connected with everything and everyone around you.

perhaps love is a process of finding a common vision of reality.

There is always a story, I learned on that walk, more heartbreaking and compelling than yours.

The human sense of comfort depends on repetitive, familiar actions—our minds and bodies strive to be accustomed to predictable circumstances.

If there was a communication problem it was that there were too many words; they were far too heavy and too specific to be inflicted upon others.