It's funny, but thinking back on it now, I realize that this particular point in time, as I stood there blinking in the deserted hall, was the one point at which I might have chosen to do something very much different from what I actually did. But of course I didn't see this crucial moment for what it actually was; I suppose we never do. Instead, I only yawned, and shook myself from the momentary daze that had come upon me, and went on my way down the stairs.

Stay away from the ones you love too much. Those are the ones who will kill you.

All those layers of silence upon silence.

I'm not sure whay I've been drawn to this subject, except that murder is a subject that has always drawn people for as long as people have been telling stories.

I guess that anything we manage to save from history is a miracle.

Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us.

Sometimes it's about playing a poor hand well.