“How can He be perfect? Everything He ever makes...dies.”

“He couldn't do it. He could not fucking die. How could he leave? How could he go? Everything he hated was here.”

“He thought of how convincingly he could describe this scene to friends and make them envy the fullness of his contentment. Why couldn't he convince himself? He had everything he'd ever wanted. He had wanted superiority--and for the last year he had been the undisputed leader of his profession. He had wanted fame--and he had five thick albums of clippings. He had wanted wealth--and he had enough to insure luxury for the rest of his life. He had everything anyone ever wanted. How many people struggled and suffered to achieve what he had achieved? How many dreamed and bled and died for this, without reaching it?”

“Like everything perfect, he set up a ferocious pain inside me -- a flickering, griping sort of pain, because nothing as marvelous as that is ever within reach, is it? Nothing as beautiful can ever last.”

“• "Like everything perfect, he set up a ferocious pain inside me -- a flickering, gripping sort of pain, because nothing as marvelous as that is ever within reach, is it? Nothing as beautiful can ever last.”

“How does he do that? No matter how stupid I act or feel, all he has to do is smile that perfect smile and it erases everything.”