Suffering is like a family dinner. It should be shared.
Sometimes it is a relief to be bored because when one is bored one is also safe.
Sometimes a story ends before it’s over with unanswered questions, unresolved plots, lingering suspense, blanketing the world like snow. Or like smoke from a suspicious fire.
Sleep is a natural part of life, like cosmetics or frivolous lawsuits.
Revenge is like making sausages. If you do it right, you can ruin someone’s breakfast.
Poetry? You’ll stop at nothing to make me talk.
Perhaps the hardest part of life on the lam is that you have to keep moving, often in a direction that seems wrong, dangerous or an agonizing combination of both.
Patience is like a grating foreign accent. It can wear thin.
Justice is out. Injustice is in. That’s why they call it injustice.
It’s these cigars. I hate the things, but I can’t quit smoking them. I’m the boss.
It’s awful, isn’t it? To have people missing from your life. It’s like a question that haunts you, night and day, and you never know if that question will ever be answered.
It’s a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It’s like climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking that there’s one more stair than there is. And your foot falls through the air, and there is a sickly feeling of dark surprise.
