“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.”

“There’s a writer for you,” he said. “Knows everything and at the same time he knows nothing.” [narrator]It was my first inkling that he was a writer. And while I like writers—because if you ask a writer anything you usually get an answer—still it belittled him in my eyes. Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person. It’s like actors, who try so pathetically not to look in mirrors. Who lean backward trying—only to see their faces in the reflecting chandeliers.”

“Writers aren't exactly people.They're a whole lot of people,trying to be one person.”

“In a depression, I’d imagine rich people try to dress like they’re poor, and poor people try to dress like they’re rich. As for me, I try to dress exactly like my clone would.”

“People aren’t broken. They’re just interestingly wired.”

“No, I was just wondering who you killed to reclaim your health. (Wulf)I’m sure the cows you eat aren’t exactly thrilled by their slaughter either. (Urian)They’re not people. (Wulf)In case you haven’t noticed, Dark-Hunter, there are a lot of people out there who aren’t human either. (Urian)”