I gave up on cussing – I’d run out of words filthy enough – and just started praying.

And besides, the thing about committing yourself to a lie is that mostly you end up in twice the trouble, ’cause truth is like a whirlwind and you can’t keep it in a box.

You know how sometimes you can be going along and do something or say something, and suddenly you *know* yourself? I mean, it’s like you’re looking at somebody else, and it’s just so fucking clear...

‘You like jealousy. You like knowing people want you.’ He wasn’t talking about sex, and my heart slowed a little. ‘Is it not natural to want to be liked?’ ‘That ain’t what you want. It’s...

‘So what happens next?’ ‘Everybody dies, and the people who don’t get married.’ ‘Like any other story, then.’

The ritual worked. That is the most ghastly thing. I hold no particular brief for the rationality of the world, but that this vile obscenity should actually have the power to bring back the dead...

The dead person is not truly dead until the last person who rememebers them dies.