“If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.”

“I s'pose, I can't have it all my own way, can I? You can't drown in a person unless they let you.”

“Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.”

“Some of you are most likely thinking that white is not really a colour and all of that tired sort of nonsense. Well, I'm here to tell you that it is. White is without question a colour, and personally, I don't think you want to argue with me.”

“Of course, I'm being rude. I'm spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story.”

“They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on occasion I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.”

“It’s funny, don’t you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.”