“The room had the impersonal, disconnected feel of a waiting room on Jupiter.”

“Kale Emerson?” Ronnie said, scanning the waiting room. There were only two people there, one was Harold’s intern who was waiting to do his nightly bitch work, and the other one was a fuckingly handsome Captain America impersonator.”

“..."the waiting-room atmosphere in which death was the delayed train...”

“Great. I'd been dumped in Hell's waiting room.”

“If you want to write fiction, the best thing you can do is take two aspirins, lie down in a dark room, and wait for the feeling to pass.”

“It had occurred to me to follow her through into the next room, visitors or no visitors, and bring her back for a talk. But in the end I had decided in favour of waiting where I was for her return. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Sophie had come back into the room, but something in her manner had prevented me from speaking and she had gone out again. In fact, although during the following half-hour Sophie had entered and left the room several more times, for all my resolve to make my feelings known to her, I had returned to my newspaper with a strong sense of hurt and frustration.”