Thus the slopes of Everest are littered with corpses. - Jon Krakauer

But then suddenly there was no place higher to go. I felt my cracked lips stretch into a painful grin. I was on top of the Devil's Thumb. Fittingly, the summit was a surreal, malevolent place, an improbably slender wedge of rock and rime no wider than a file cabinet. It did not encourage loitering. As I straddled the highest point, the south face fell away beneath my right boot for twenty-five hundred feet; beneath my left boot the north face dropped twice that distance.

You should own nothing except what you can carry on your back at a dead run.

Sometimes he tried too hard to make sense of the world, to figure out why people were bad to each other so often.