I had to learn compassion. Had to learn what it felt like to hate, and to forgive and to love and be loved. And to lose people close to me. Had to feel deep loneliness and sorrow. And then I could write.

Or - perhaps - I should just worry about my own behavior and let others be who they are.

Every year the hunters shot cows and horses and family pets and each other. And unbelievably, they sometimes shot themselves, perhaps in a psychotic episode where they mistook themselves for dinner

Don't mistake dramatics for a conscience.

Things are strongest where they're broken.

But you want murderous feelings? Hang around librarians," confided Gamache. "All that silence. Gives them ideas.

It's a shame that creativity and sloth look exactly the same.