“Paradoxically, a saint like [Albert] Schweitzer can give one a lot more trouble than King Leopold II, villain of unmitigated guilt, because along with doing good and saving African lives Schweitzer also managed to announce that the African was indeed his brother, but only his junior brother.”

“He didn‘t care what she said—happiness was a lot more than good health and a poor memory. Happiness was this. It was her, and him, and that moment. Fuck Albert Schweitzer. He could kiss his ass. Happiness wasreal.”

“Your eyes flashed fire into my soul. I immediately read the words of Dostoyevsky and Karl Marx, and in the words of Albert Schweitzer, I FANCY YOU!”

“It is no sign of benediction to have been obsessed with the lives of saints, for it is an obsession intertwined with a taste for maladies and hunger for depravities. One only troubles oneself with saints because one has been disappointed by the paradoxes of earthly life; one therefore searches out other paradoxes, more outlandish in guise, redolent of unknown truths, unknown perfumes...”

“The king killed his brother, who was actually king, so that he could be king. Then the dead king’s wife and baby disappeared, on account the baby would’ve been king, so the brother probably killed them, too. They do that kind of thing all the time, kings do. They can kill anybody they don’t like.”

“My mum translated this in her head to "witchfinder," which was good because like most West Africans, she considered witchfinding a more respectable profession than policeman.”