You are the human clay," Vosch whispers fiercely in my ear. "And I am Michelangelo. I am the master builder, and you will be my masterpiece.

There's the bullshit you know that you know; the bullshit you don't know and know you don't know; and the bullshit you just think you know but really don't.

I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.

Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.

Hold on tight, Sam." He puts me in a choke hold. "Ahhh," I gasp. "Not that tight.

He asks me what happened to my leg. I told him I was shot by a shark. He doesn't react. Doesn't seem confused or amused or anything. Like getting shot by a shark is a perfectly natural thing in the aftermath of the arrival.

He barely knew I existed. I knew some of the same people he knew, but I was a girl in the background, several degrees of seperation removed.