What a lost person needs is a map of the territory, with his own position marked on it so he can see where he is in relation to everything else.

I don't want to look at something that determines me so completely.

For if the world treats you well, Sir, you come to believe you are deserving of it.

Why are you so interested in amoebas?" "Oh, they're immortal," he said, "and sort of shapeless and flexible. Being a person is getting too complicated.

Even an obvious fabrication is some comfort when you have few others.

Karen wasn't hard, she was soft, too soft. A soft touch. Her hair was soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft. She was so soft there was no resistance. Hard things sank into her, they went right through her, and if she made a real effort, out the other side. Then she didn't have to see them or hear them, or even touch them.

I didn't want him to become gray and multi-dimensional and complicated like everyone else. Was every Heathcliff a Linton in disguise?