Lev Grossman

Perfection was part of Quentin’s mythology of Brakebills, the story he told himself about his life there, a narrative as carefully constructed and reverently maintained as Fillory and Further, and he wanted to be able not just to tell it to himself but to believe it.

One way or another the bonds that held them together were starting to fray, they were losing their magical ability to effortlessly love one another. Now, even though things would never be the same, even though they’d never be together in the same way, at least he could always remember it the way he wanted to. The memories were safe, sealed forever in amber.

You can do nothing or anything or everything, and none of it matters. You have to find something to really care about to keep from running totally off the rails.