“To be completely helpless in the face of life―powerless to do a single thing―that's what I'd always feared more than anything. It was like I'd been keeping all the edges of my life neat and clean, pretending the neatness was all that mattered, pretending life could somehow be controlled.”
“What I'd like is a lobotomy, a clean job, the top of my head neatly sawn off and designated contents removed.”
“It was sort of the pattern to my life - I'd never been strong enough to deal with the things outside my control, to attack the enemies or outrun them. To avoid the pain. Always human and weak, the only thing I'd ever been able to do was keep going. Endure. Survive.”
“Glory be!' said the Cabby. 'I'd ha' been a better man all my life if I'd known there were things like this.”
“I'd been painting rats for three years before someone said, 'That's clever. It's an anagram of art,' and I had to pretend I'd known that all along.”
“And if I could bottle the look on his face, I'd keep it by my bedside for the rest of my life.”