Had you but seen it, I promise you, your high-minded principles would have melted like candle wax. Never would you have wished such beauty away.

What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. Books. Not just one or two dozen, but hundreds of them. In crates. In piles on the floor. In bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling and lined the entire room. I turned around and around in a slow circle, feeling as if I'd just stumbled into Ali Baba's cave. I was breathless, close to tears, and positively dizzy with greed.

Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.

The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.

Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

Funny, 'ow you can 'old a jewel in your 'and, and toss it away, and not even know what you 'ad until it's gone.

I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.