I planned my death carefully, unlike my life, which meandered along from one thing to another, despite my feeble attempts to control it.
I know I was alright on Friday when I got up; if anything I was feeling more stolid than usual.
I knelt to examine the floor, and there it was, in tiny writing, quite fresh it seemed, scratched with a pin or maybe just a fingernail, in the corner where the darkest shadow fell: Nolite te bastarde...
I intend to get out of here. It can't last forever. Others have thought such things, in bad times before this, and they were always right, they did get out one way or another, and it didn't last forev...
I have failed once again to fulfill the expectations of others, which have become my own.
I had now been a servant for three years, and could act the part well enough by that time. But Nancy was very changeable, two-faced you might call her, and it wasn't easy to tell what she wanted from...
I can’t think of myself, my body, sometimes, without seeing the skeleton: how I must appear to an electron. A cradle of life, made of bones; and within, hazards, warped proteins, bad crystals jagged a...
I can’t believe in my own sadness, I can’t take it seriously. I watch myself crying in the mirror, intrigued by the sight of tears.
I began to forget myself in the middle of sentences.
Humanity is so adaptable [...] Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.
However she tried to hide it, she resented me, of course. There's only so long you can feel sorry for a person before you come to feel that their affliction is an act of malice committed by them again...
How dare she show herself to be everything he was so annoyed with her for not being?
Hell we can make for ourselves.
He'll find out somehow, because journeys end in lovers meeting.
He was entitled to his own versions, his own conjurings. as I am. I may have served his ends, but he served mine as well.
He knows this by the way the girl stumbles, and it occurs to him for the first time that by taking her with him he'll be slowed down. He'll be hampered by her ability to see.
He has been trying to singLove into existence againAnd he has failed.
He feels like saying that of course there’s lint on Mr. Wiggly, or dust at any rate, or maybe rust; what does she expect, because as she is well aware Mr. Wiggly has been on the shelf for some time.
Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love.
Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment.