Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions.

Nature is honest, we aren't; we embalm our dead.

The first temptation, upon meeting an old friend after many years, is always to - look the other way.

A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.

We know well enough when we're being unjust and despicable. but we don't restrain ourselves because we experience a certain pleasure, a primitive sort of satisfaction in moments like that.

At any given moment, I open my eyes and exist.

This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.