He was evidently the sort of person who posed questions that were traps for you to fall into.

Why is it a surprise to find that people other than ourselves are able to tell lies?

She would live now, not read.

You cannot let your parents anywhere near your real humiliations.

One drop of hatred in your soul will spread and discolor everything like a drop of black ink in white milk.

They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.

A story is not like a road to follow... it's more like a house. You go inside and stay there for a while, wandering back and forth and settling where you like and discovering how the room and corridors relate to each other, how the world outside it altered by being viewed from these windows.