When he was in school, he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about going home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he’d bothered. Nothing really interested him - least of all the things that should have.
Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth. I know this feeling all too well. (via unalone)
