I don’t know where the universe came from or what happens to creatures when they die. I don’t know if the whole thing’s an unravelling accident or an inscrutable design. I don’t know how one should live—but I know that one should live, if one can possibly bear it.

One day the ordinariness will be terminally punctuated by the extraordinary full stop of death.

The only animal from which humans have nothing to learn, in fact, is the sheep. Humans have already learned everything the sheep's got to teach.

I suppose the word "unbearable" is a lie by definition. Unless you kill yourself immediately after using it.

Falling in love makes the unknown known. Falling out of love reverses the process.

The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it.

Your ideal possession candidate's a thirteen-year-old recently orphaned schizophrenic girl three days away from her period on her way to see the shrink with whom she's romantically besotted.