He knew about being alone. The weather was always cold there.

Just my luck, if I believed in luck. I only believe in the opposite of luck, whatever that is.

Of course. You get everything from books.

Well, the family always was bright, and brightness, as you know, decays brilliantly.

Yet who can say how our souls have been stamped by witnessing such a cruel drama? All souls are hostages to their human envelopes, but souls must decay and suffer at such indignity, don't you agree?

I never write a book unless I can't help it. Something has to bother me, like a mosquito, until I have to do something to relieve the itch.

Happy endings are still endings.