If not just the brain but the quirks that made the individual were composed of recycled matter only, it was hard to be sure where the edges of one such being ended and another person began.

The past was suddenly rushing in on me in a way I found hard to fight.

This is how most people live: alive, but not conscious; conscious but not aware; aware, but intermittently.

They're so attached to their patterns that they've forgotten rule number one of human behavior: there are no patterns. People just do things. There's no such things as a coherent and fully integrated human personality, let alone consistent motivation.

It was entirely silent and I tried to breathe its peace.

The physical shock took away the pain of being.

One thing about London is that when you step out into the night, it swallows you.