It's hard to have anything isn't it? Rare to get it, hard to keep it. This is a damn slippery planet.

There is no murder. We make murder, and it matters only to us.

He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.

Over this odd world, this half the world that's dark now, I have to hunt a thing that lives on tears.

What do you look at while you’re making up your mind? Ours is not a reflective culture, we do no raise our eyes up to the hills. Most of the time we decide the critical things while looking at the linoleum floor of an institutional corridor, or whispering hurriedly in a waiting room with a television blatting nonsense.

You cant reduce me to a set of influences.

I think it's easy to mistake understanding for empathy - we want empathy so badly. Maybe learning to make that distinction is part of growing up. It's hard and ugly to know somebody can understand you without even liking you.