“Games were being played, that was all, and games of which he was largely ignorant and wished to remain so.”

“Evil was a stupid word. It had the same sort of sense, largely meaningless, amorphous, diffuse, wooly, as applied to "love." Everyone had a vague idea of what it meant but none could precisely have defined it. It seemed, in a way, to imply something supernatural.”

“Life is too short to be so circumspect.”

“His books distracted him for a while. They were like the aspirins you take when you've got a headache. They kill the pain for two hours and then it comes back.”

“We are all mad at three in the morning”

“Mark Twain had written somewhere: We are all mad at night.”

“Time, the best of all doctors, though it kills you in the end, had done more than therapy could.”