“For a hundred dead stories there still remain one or two living ones. I evoke these with caution, occasionally, not too often, for fear of wearing them out, I fish one out, again I see the scenery, the characters, the attitudes. I stop suddenly: there is a flaw, I have seen a word pierce through the web of sensations. I suppose that this word will soon take the place of several images I love. I must stop quickly and think of something else; I don't want to tire my memories. In vain; the next time I evoke them a good part will be congealed.”

“A pious man explained to his followers: 'It is evil to take lives and noble to save them. Each day I pledge to save a hundred lives. I drop my net in the lake and scoop out a hundred fishes. I place the fishes on the bank, where they flop and twirl. "Don't be scared," I tell those fishes. "I am saving you from drowning." Soon enough, the fishes grow calm and lie still. Yet, sad to say, I am always too late. The fishes expire. And because it is evil to waste anything, I take those dead fishes to market and I sell them for a good price. With the money I receive, I buy more nets so I can save more fishes.”

“I don't think -" I begin, but then I stop there. Strangely enough, this sounds like a full, declarative sentence, as if I'm standing in a bar shouting out one of my most obvious character flaws. I don't think!”

“I have no fear of the dead. Indeed in my own limited experience I have found them to produce in me a feeling that is quite the opposite of fear. A dead body is much more fascinating than a live one and I have learned that most corpses tell better stories. I’d had the good fortune of seeing several of them in my time.”

“He stops pacing. 'I know, Miranda, I did it because I—' 'Stop! Don't say it. I don't want to hear you say it.' 'I have to say it,' Noah says. 'No, you don't.' If I hear him say the word love, I don't know what I'll do. I still have my gun. Maybe one day I can forgive him, but all chance of that goes out the window if he claims he did it for love. If you love someone, the idea is respect them enough to trust them. Not to take away their freedom. Their life.”

“He leans forward and his mouth brushes brieflyagainst mine, and I feel... nothing.I was hoping our first kiss would trigger all sorts of memories or sensations, maybe a sudden image of Paris or our wedding, or our first snog. But as he draws away I feel totally, one hundred percent blank.I can see the anticipation in Eric's face and quickly search for something encouraging to say."That was lovely! Very..." I trail off, unable to think of a single word other than quick, which I'm not sure hits the right note. "It didn't bring back any memories?" Eric is studying my face."Well...no," I say apologetically. "But, I mean, that doesn't mean it wasn't really... I mean it was... I feel quite turned on!" The words come out before I can stop them.What the hell did I say that for? I don't feel turned on."Really?" Eric lights up and he puts his briefcase down.Oh no. No no no. Nooo.”