“I don’t mind people going about unobtrusively doing good, but I can’t stomach moral indignation.”

“I’ve never once thought about how I was going to die,” she said. “I can’t think about it. I don’t even know how I’m going to live.”

“I don’t read biographies for moral instruction, or for a history lesson. I want to know what people are saying about me.”

“And people who don’t dream, who don’t have any kind of imaginative life, they must… they must go nuts. I can’t imagine that.”

“The vehemence of my moral indignation surprised me. Was I beginning to have standards and principles, and, oh dear, scruples? What were they, and what would I do with them, and how much were they going to get in my way?”

“…I see that something’s are hard to do, but that you can’t live with yourself if you don’t do them. I see that the best way to help myself is to help the people I care about. The rest will sort itself out. It has to, right?”