The landscape was snow and green ice on broken mountains. These weren't old mountains, worn down by time and weather and full of gentle ski slopes, but young, sulky, adolescent mountains. They held secret ravines and merciless crevices. One yodel out of place would attract, not the jolly echo of a lonely goatherd, but fifty tons of express-delivery snow.

Questions don't have to make sense, Vincent," said Miss Susan. "But answers do.

You see the lighted windows and what you want to think is that there may be many interesting stories behind them, but what you know is that really there are just dull, dull souls, mere consumers of food, who think their instincts are emotions and their tiny lives of more account than a whisper of wind.

History, contrary to popular theories, is kings and dates and battles.

Priests were metal-reinforced overshoes. They saved your soles. This is an Assassin joke.

I'm trying to remember how you tell the time by looking at the sun." -"I should leave it for a while, it's too bright to see the numbers at the moment.

It was nice to hear the voices of little children at play, provided you took care to be far enough away not to hear what they were actually saying.