For the first time I could remember, I felt weak, woozy and stupid— like a human-being. Like a very small and helpless human-being.

And I was having too much fun to stop now.

…a cheerful black shadow reared up behind him as he spoke, thundering a happy challenge to my Dark Passenger, which slid forward and bellowed back.

Killing makes me feel good.

It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.

Money to me had always been merely something the sheep used to show each other how wonderful they were.

Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth - it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.