No big deal. We all have blood in us, the trick is keeping it inside.

A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.

I don't know if you have noticed this, but it is quite possible for two human beings to have a conversation in which one or both parties involved has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.

And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

Killing makes me feel good.

Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?