A facade of skyscrapers facing a lake and behind the facade, every type of dubiousness.

Tolerance is just a makeshift, suitable for an overcrowded and overheated planet. It carries on when love gives out, and love generally gives out as soon as we move away from our home and our friends.

The woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself.

The crime of suicide lies rather in its disregard for the feelings of those whom we leave behind.

He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms.

...though nothing is damaged, everything is changed.

Human beings have their great chance in the novel.