I don’t believe in love. At least, I believe in love, but not in happiness. The only love that lasts is unhappy love.[in his journal]
We’ve chosen to work in a masculine, paramilitary, patriarchal culture. Let’s not let it beat us.[to Danielle]
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.
Once a man has achieved contempt for himself, he achieves contempt for all man-made laws and moralities and is truly free to do as he wills.
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.