The past is a palimpsest. Early memories are always obscured by accumulations of later knowledge.
Half the world's work is done by hopeless neurotics.
Murder is only killing in the wrong place.
The result was I went nowhere.
It's the hardest thing in the world to go on being aware of someone else's pain.
The sky darkened, the air grew colder, but he didn't mind. It didn't occur to him to move. This was the right place. This was where he had wanted to be.