The ideal death, I think, is what was the ideal Victorian death, you know, with your grandchildren around you, a bit of sobbing. And you say goodbye to your loved ones, making certain that one of them has been left behind to look after the shop.

People aren't just people, they are people surrounded by circumstances.

People are content to wait a long time for salvation, but prefer dinner to turn up inside an hour.

... the food was good solid stuff for a cold morning, all calories and fat and protein and maybe a vitamin crying softly because it was all alone.

I don't think about the end game. I've got lots to occupy my mind. It's the rage that keeps me going.

"And what would humans be without love?" Rare, said Death.

Quit while you're a head, that's what I say.