I assure you, Constable Morgan, I am quite sane, as I understand the word, perhaps the sanest person in this room, for I suffer from no illusions. I have freed myself, you see, from the pretense that burdens most men. Much like our prey, I do not impose order where there is none; I do not pretend there is any more than what there is, or that you and I are anything more than what we are. That is the essence of their beauty, Morgan, the aboriginal purity of their being, and why I admire them.
Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.
A child has little defense against the sight of a parent laid low. Parents, like the earth beneath our feet and the sun above our heads, are immutable objects, eternal and reliable. If one should fall, who might vouch the sun itself won't fall, burning, into the sea?
We are very much like them: indiscriminate killers, ruled by drives little acknowledged and less understood, mindlessly territorial and murderously jealous - the only significant difference being that they have yet to master our expertise in hypocrisy, the gift of our superior intellect that enables us to slaughter one another in droves, more often than not under the auspices of an approving god!
Memories can bring comfort to the old and infirm, but memories can also be implacable foes, a malicious army of temporal ghosts forever pillaging the long-sought-after peace of our twilight years.
The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.
It isn't up to me to break his heart; that's time's job.
Sarcasm doesn't appear to work on him. If that's true, I'm in trouble: It's my normal mode of communication.
Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.
It's an either/or world now.
We’re here, and then we’re gone, and it’s not about the time we’re here, but what we do with the time.
I will teach you to love death. I will empty you of grief and guilt and self-pity and fill you up with hate and cunning and the spirit of vengeance. I will make my final stand here, Benjamin Thomas Parish.
I brought Sammy inside and put him to bed. Said his prayer with him. “‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’” To me, just random noise. Gibberish. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I felt that, when it came to God, there was a broken promise in there somewhere.
Cruelty isn't a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit.
There's an old saying about truth setting you free. Don't buy it. Sometimes the truth slams the cell door shut and throws a thousand bolts.
His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.
She looks at me out of the side of her uncovered eye. "Chess, Zombie: defending yourself from the move that hasn't happened yet. Does it matter that he doesn't light up through our eyepieces? That he missed us when he could have taken us own? If two possibilities are equally probable but mutually exclusive, which one matters the most? Which one do you bet your life on?
Time for the world to end.
Climb onto my shoulders. I will not let you fall.
I was woefully ignorant in the social graces. I was being raised, after all, by Pellinore Warthrop.
I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.
If the world breaks a million and one promises, can you trust the million and second?
There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?
He barely knew I existed. I knew some of the same people he knew, but I was a girl in the background, several degrees of seperation removed.
The minute we decide that one person doesn´t matter anymore, they´ve won.
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