It was something... the way a person's life picked up speed, the way a life was like a bullet aimed at one final target, impossible to slow or turn aside, and like the bullet, you were ignorant of what you were going to hit, would never know anything except the rush and the impact.

She liked things that had been written by people who had lived short, ugly, and tragic lives. Or, who at least, were English.

You know someone for a while and then one day a hole opens underneath them, and they fall out of your world.

What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.

Innocence ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know. Innocent little kids rip the wings off flies, because they don’t know any better. That’s innocence

I will die like a true-blue rebel. Don't waste any time in mourning - organize.

Gold don't come off. What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.