I will admit he is unusual, but that is perhaps the closest I could come to complimenting him.

He only wished to fight and cultivate an anger toward me, thus alleviating his guilt, but I would not abet him in this.

Most people are chained to their own fear and stupidity and haven’t the sense to level a cold eye at just what is wrong with their lives. Most people will continue on, dissatisfied but never attempting to understand why, or how they might change things for the better, and they die with nothing in their hearts but dirt and old, thin blood - weak blood, diluted - and their memories aren’t worth a goddamned thing.

You put a wage behind something, it gives the act a sort of respectability.

Luck was something you either earned or invented through strength of character. You had to come by it honestly; you could not trick or bluff your way into it.

The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.

All you will get from me is death.