The library was like a second home. Or maybe more like a real home, more than the place I lived in. By going every day I got to know all the lady librarians who worked there. They knew my name and always said hi. I was painfully shy, though, and could barely reply.

We were so bad last year, the cheerleaders stayed home and phoned in the cheers.

No sense of the irony of human experience, that we are the highest form of life on earth, and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.

It is not a thing that you can imagine. It only is. After that, there can be no imagining.

Written By Jonathan Safran Foer

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