I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.

Let me tell you a few things about regret. There is no end to it. Do you regret the beginning which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?

I almost said, you're not broken, you're just going through something. But i couldn't. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the way inside. She was like a big diamond with a dead spot in the middle. I was supposed to breathe life into that dead spot, but it hadn't worked.

If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?

It wasn't awful to be dead. The stillness would almost be a relief. She wouldn't want pain, she wouldn't want to be wounded or mutilated. She could never shoot herself or jump off a building. But being dead wasn't unthinkable.

What was the point in such loneliness among people. At least if you were by yourself, you had a good reason to be lonely.

And I thought, there was no God, there was only what you wanted.