He was himself a case in point, and perhaps not a rare one, for his spirit, it seemed, had been burned out of him but he was yet walking.

What I wanted to do was slap him down a bit with wit and words. Grammar and vocabulary as a weapon. But what kind of world would it be if we all took every opportunity presented to us to assault the weak?

I'm ruined beyond repair, is what I fear...And if so, in time we'd both be wretched and bitter." "I know people can be mended. Not all, and some more immediately than others. But some can be. I don't see why not you." "Why not me?

There was a redemption of some kind, he believed, in such complete fulfillment of a desire so long deferred.

I know I don't need him, but I think I want him.

Verbs. All of them tiring.

[No] matter what a waste one has made of one's life, it is ever possible to find some path to redemption, however partial.