“That’s what I tell peo­ple. My of­fi­cial ver­sion of the truth.”

“The main thing I wor­ry about in pub­lic is maybe peo­ple can tell I’m a sur­vivor.”

“Most ev­ery­thing else I know is from the mess­es these peo­ple leave be­hind.”

“Peo­ple are look­ing for how to put ev­ery­thing to­geth­er. They need a uni­fied field the­ory that com­bines glam­our and ho­li­ness, fash­ion and spir­itu­al­ity. Peo­ple need to rec­on­cile be­ing good and be­ing good-​look­ing.”

“Since change is con­stant, you won­der if peo­ple crave death be­cause it’s the on­ly way they can get any­thing re­al­ly fin­ished.”

“As if any one of those peo­ple isn’t al­ready look­ing around for a new gu­ru to make sense out of their risk-​free bore­dom of a lifestyle while they watch the news on tele­vi­sion and pass judg­ment on me.”

“And I say no. The problem is the light, the dim light down here. Cupped in the palm of my hand, the cyanide and the wood pill, I can't tell which is which. What's sex and what's death—I can't tell the difference.I ask which one to give her.And Mr. Bacardi leans in to look, both of us breathing hot, damp air into my open hand.”