“She was his like a table or a chair, but a table owned you, too - by your fingerprints.”

“‎His lips felt dry with a literal thirst for righteousness, which was like a glass of ice-cold water on a table in another man's room.”

“She was not too young to be wise, but she was too young to know that wisdom shouldn't be spoken aloud when you are happy.”

“The old man in the beard he felt convinced was wrong. He was too busy saving his own soul. Wasn't it better to take part even in the crimes of people you loved, if it was necessary hate as they did, and if that were the end of everything suffer damnation with them rather than be saved alone?”

“tea. He watched her while she made it, made it, of course, all wrong: the water not on the boil, the teapot unheated, too few leaves. She said, "I never quite understand why English people like teas so.”

“She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.”

“I say that home is where there is a chair and a glass.”