“I felt despair. The word’s overused and banalified now, despair, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. For me it denotes a simple admixture — a weird yearning for death combined with a crushing sense of my own smallness and futility that presents as a fear of death. It’s maybe close to what people call dread or angst. But it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable feeling of becoming aware that I’m small and weak and selfish and going without any doubt at all to die. It’s wanting to jump overboard.”

“I’m not Sisyphus trying to restrain death. Illyria is a soldier. If it’s her time, it’s her time. I’m not at war with Atropos. It’s her will to take us whenever she likes. My only goal is to die with dignity. (Stryker)”

“And it’s not that I’m so unhappy I don’t want to live any more. That’s not what it feels like. It feels more like I’m tired and bored and the party’s gone on too long and I want to go home.”

“Listen to me. I’m shy. I’m not stupid. I can’t meet people’s eyes. I don’t know if you understand what that’s like. There’s a whole world going on around me, I’m aware of that. It’s not because I don’t want to look at you, Lucinda. It’s that I don’t want to be seen.”

“She turned. ‘I’m quite serious, you know. I plan to murder him tonight.’ She touched my leg again; my muscles tensed. ‘I’ve got it all worked out. It’s a simply delightful plan.’ She cocked her head. ‘No, let me rephrase that. Really, it’s more delightfully simple.”

“My biggest fear in life is to exist without living. I’m not quite sure what I mean by that but I’d rather die than just plod along without a map. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve got everything worked out. Admittedly I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m determined to get there all the same.”