Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

How'd it feel?" Rube asked himself. "I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

The Germans in basements were pitiable, surely, but at least they had a chance. That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable.

It's insane to be a writer and not be a reader. When I'm writing I'm more likely to be reading four or five books at once, just in bits and pieces rather than subjecting myself to a really brilliant book and thinking, "Well what's the point of me writing anything?" I'm more likely to read a book through when I take a break from writing.

Mistakes, mistakes, it's all I seem capable of at times.

I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.

It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.