I'm doing one of three things: I'm writing. I'm staring out the window. Or I'm writhing on the floor.

One can only see what one observes, and one observes only things which are already in the mind.

He sees very clearly - he damn sure sees through me. It's hard to accept that someone can understand you without wishing you well. At Starling's age it hadn't happened to her much.

In her way, she was a hard one. Faith in any sort of natural justice was nothing but a night light; she knew of that. Whatever she did, she would end the same way with everyone does: flat on her back with a tube in her nose, wondering, "Is this all?

It's hard... to shake off something that's already under your skin.

You cant reduce me to a set of influences.

He moves smoothly and slowly, carrying his concentration like a brimming cup.