There was nothin to set a man's mind at ease like wakin up in the morning and not havin to decide who you were.

He'd half meant to speak but those eyes had altered the world forever in the space of a heartbeat.

People don't pay attention. And then one day there's an accounting. And after that, nothing is the same.

This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair. That is my job.

What deity in the realms of dementia, what rabid god decocted out of the smoking lobes of hydrophobia could have devised a keeping place for souls so poor as is this flesh. This mawky worm-bent tabernacle.

Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it. You understand what I'm sayin?

Men's memories are uncertain and the past that was differs little from the past that was not.