“He couldn't see her, sitting outside in the darkness, looking in at the light. A pair of actors trapped in a recondite play with no hint of plot or narrative. Stumbiling through their parts nursing someone else’s sorrow. Grieving someone else’s grief. Unable somehow to change plays. Or purchase, for a fee some cheap brand of exorcism from a conveyor with a fancy degree, who would sit them down and say in one of many ways: “ Your not the sinners. You’re the sinned against. You were only children.You had no control. You are the victims, not the perpetrators.” It would of helped if they could of made that crossing. If only they could have worn, even temporarily, the tragic hood of victim hood”

“There are moments in your life when you see yourself through someone else’s eyes, when your only hope of believing you’re capable of doing something is because someone else believes it for you.”

“If Slater were someone else, Kevin would merely be the poor victim of a horrible plot. Unless he was killed by Slater, in which case he would be the dead victim of a horrible plot”

“No, nothing much had changed in the old neighborhood. She was still just an actress in someone else’s play.”

“Be one of the crowd? It went against everything a wizard stood for, and a wizard would not stand for anything if he could sit down for it, but even sitting down, you had to stand out.”

“The room was deathly quiet. Maybe because I was holding my breath. You know that feeling you get when you know you’re doing something that you shouldn’t be doing but you’re doing it anyway? I felt that if someone were to sneak up behind me and go “Boo” that my heart would say “Fuck it” and just stop beating. I told myself to think of something else. Think of that gorgeous young man who had served us at dinner. Think of how he’d look naked. Okay, maybe don’t think of that. The only thing worse than being found in someone else’s room rifling through their things would be to be found in someone else’s room pleasuring yourself.”