"Is this why you want to leave, Miles?" Mom asked.
I mulled it over for a while, careful not to look at her. "Uh, no," I said.
"Well, why then?" she asked. This was not the first time she had posed the question. Mom was not particularly keen on letting me go to boarding school and had made no secret of it.
How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?
Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.
That swan is the spawn of Satan. Never get closer to it than we are now.
It’s not imaginary. It’s my great perhaps.
I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation.
The pigs can’t stop the fox; I’m too quick. I can rhyme while I run; I’m that slick.
This mystery can’t be solved. We have to live with that for the rest of our lives.
And I wrote my way out of the labyrinth.
Not to ask the obvious question, but why Alaska?
The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.
My question? It has no answer.
When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.
Do you have any suggestions on how to improve this page?
and then