“The hemulen woke up slowly and recognised himself and wished he had been someone he didn't know.”
“He left slowly, as if he had to pry himself away before he something improper. A growing part of me wished he'd stayed.”
“He felt that he was himself and did not wish to be anyone else. He only wished now to be better than he had been formerly”
“At first he didn't know where he was, whose voice it was. He must have been asleep. And waking suddenly, like that, you woke in a thousand different places that you'd never been.”
“I had been wading up to my neck in all this niceness for years. I woke up to it, went to sleep in it. I breathed niceness and slowly it was killing me.”
“If he had to wish, what would he wish for, he asked himself. What was there to wish for... a wish asked for the unattainable. The impossible.”