The multiple choices of possibilities of daily life are the music we dance to.

I've put men to death-men with supposedly immortal souls-that looked dumber than that mouse

It's not the pain I'm afraid of; I know about the pain. What I'm afraid of is the end of this small, sweet dream.

Let’s talk, you and I. Let’s talk about fear. The house is empty as I write this; a cold February rain is falling outside. It’s night. Sometimes when the wind blows the way it’s blowing now, we lose the power. But for now it’s on, and so let’s talk very honestly about fear. Let’s talk very rationally about moving to the rim of madnessand... and perhaps over the edge.

The shuddering would not stop. The pain was like the end of the world. He thought: There comes a point when the very discussion of pain becomes redundant. No one knows there is pain the size of this in the world. No one. It is like being possessed by demons.

How many times, over how many years, had he—a grown man—asked for the mercy of another chance? He was suddenly so sick of himself, so revolted, that he could have groaned aloud.

You cannot condemn a man for what may only be a figment of your own imagination.