A woman, I forget who, once asked a male friend why men felt threatened by women. He replied that they were afraid that women might laugh at them. When she asked a group of women why women felt threatened by men, they said, “We’re afraid they might kill us.”
That’s what really bothers you, isn’t it? The one night stand. Man f***s woman. Subject man, verb f***s, object woman. That’s okay. Woman f***s man. Woman subject, man object. That’s not so comfortable for you, is it?
We all have physical, emotional needs that can only be met by interaction with another person. The trick is to ask someone appropriate to meet them.
We’ve chosen to work in a masculine, paramilitary, patriarchal culture. Let’s not let it beat us.[to Danielle]
We all need love and we all need nurture. There’s too much death and destruction. But friends who love you should warm you like the sun. Make you feel good about yourself. Not freeze you in their contempt and in their hate. Anger corrodes our belief that anything good can happen to us.[to Katie]
Most human emotions exist on a kind of continuum. People talk about lack of empathy, but we all have limits to our empathy.
I thought death would be too easy for you, too easy an escape. And I didn’t want you to cheat the system. And I still don’t. I want you to be punished for the crimes that you’ve committed. Rose Stagg was so right about you. She saw right through you, your infantile desire to have a captive and captivated audience. You just want to be noticed, you want to be the centre of attention, to have special treatment, to make your mark. But it’s all just a performance. All of it. You perform for me, for your solicitor, your doctors, your nurse, your psychiatrist, even your family. It’s all just one big performance as protection against the dreaded black hole of your heart. Well, guess what, Paul, it’s time to grow up. It’s time to take responsibility for what you’ve done. Let’s stop this pathetic charade.
We all have those voices in our heads, that tell us we’re a disappointment, that tell us our work is insignificant. That it’s not good enough, it takes too long, it’s too hard. But when times are tough, we need tough dreams. But real dreams, not lies.[to Katie]
The serialist, like the heroin addict, is always seeking that elusive first high, and he’s doomed to fail.