And finally - he was neither able nor willing to prevent it - the self-loathing dammed up inside him spilled over and gushed out, gushed out of glaring eyes that grew ever grimmer, angrier, beneath the rim of his cap, flooding the outside world as perfect, vulgar hate.

He succeeded in being considered totally uninteresting. People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.

She was indeed a girl of exquisite beauty. She was one of those languid women made of dark honey smooth and sweet and terribly sticky.

People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.

He had preserved the best part of her and made it his own: the principle of her scent.

No human being can go on living in the same house with a pigeon, a pigeon is the epitomy of chaos and anarchy, a pigeon that whizzes around unpredictably, that sets it's claws in you, picks at your eyes.

...he came to the conclusion that you cannot depend on people, and that you can live in peace only if you keep them at arm's length.