People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice.

terror finally becomes almost bearable but never quite terror creeps like a cat crawls like a cat across my mind

I had no Freedom. I had nothing.

I take much pleasure in being alone but there is also a strange warm grace in not being alone.

Early evening traffic was beginning to clog the avenue with cars. The sun slanted down behind him. Harry glanced at the drivers of the cars. They seemed unhappy. The world was unhappy. People were in the dark. People were terrified and disappointed. People were caught in traps. People were defensive and frantic. They felt as if their lives were being wasted. And they were right.

how can you be true and kind at the same time? how?

I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It's a dirty floor. It's a dirty typer that types dirty stories