What have we all got to expect that we allow ourselves to be so lined with disappointment?

Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.

I've caught belief like a disease. I've fallen into belief like I fell in love.

I'm tired and I'm sick to death of being without you.

I get fed up with all this nonsense of ringing people up and lighting cigarettes and answering the doorbell that passes for action in so many modern plays.

Except for the sound of the rain, on the road, on the roofs, on the umbrella, there was absolute silence: only the dying moan of the sirens continued for a moment or two to vibrate within the ear. It seemed to Scobie later that this was the ultimate border he had reached in happiness: being in darkness, alone, with the rain falling, without love or pity.

Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It's the same thing.