I stood up. It was all too much. I could not even meet my own expectations, and to be asked to deal with all theirs too was suffocating.

I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can’t believe he did those horrible things . . .

Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.

As I've said, freedom is really an illusion. Anytime we think we have a real choice, it just means we haven't seen the shotgun aimed at our navel.

It was such an unexpected and genuine smile that if I only had a soul I'm sure I would have felt quite guilty.

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is