It's the possibility that when you're dead you might still go on hurting that bothers me.

The smarter you are, the more you know, the less reason you have to trust or love or confide.

Why? is the boy's motto, why does, why is, why not? Food, weather, time, fires, sea and season, clothes and cars and people; it's all grist to the mill of why.

There is a time, when passing through a light, that you walk in your own shadow.

Wars of small kingdoms and forgotten lands, what do chessmen dream of in the dark?

It's the possibility that when you're dead you might still go on hurting that bothers me.

You want to know about anybody? See what books they read, and how they've been read.