Perhaps the rare and simple pleasure of being seen for what one is compensates for the misery of being it.

And there isn't any way that one can get rid of the guilt of having a nice body by saying that one can serve society with it, because that would end up with oneself as what? There simply doesn't seem to be any moral place for flesh.

Poverty, therefore, was comparative. One measured it by a sliding scale. One was always poor, in terms of those who were richer.

Our desire to conform is greater than our respect for objective facts.

How extraordinary people are, that they get themselves into such situations where they go on doing what they dislike doing, and have no need or obligation to do, simply because it seems to be expected.

The women are always vixens or monsters. They can't just be normal people in the book.

Scenery can be a violent stimulant.