“It is one thing to ask questions; what do you do with the answers?”
“Use the fear; feed the anger.”
“Simple is hard enough. Who needs complicated?”
“...to form something greater than the sum of its parts.”
“I was told very sternly at the hospital to avoid boys at all costs. Mess up your levels."
"Oh, they do that!" Amy laughs. "Probably best to leave them alone for a while. The secret, though, is to start with one you're not that bothered about."
What is the point in that?”
“And wait for the bus in grey drizzle, arms folded tight around myself, shivering against cold that falls from the sky and sinks deep in my bones.”
“But soon I forget all they are being and doing and saying, and stare out the window.”
“He finds a tissue in his pocket and holds it out. I press it against my lip. Pull it away and look at it. Bright red, though not much of it.
I've had worse.
Have I?”
“A high tower, like Rapunzel's, but this has no windows, nowhere to lower my hair.”
“And think about things, I do: late that night. All through school the next day, wandering to classes, unaware of my surroundings.”
“No. I remember. So long as I don't think about it too much, my hands and feet take over; some memory locked into muscle that my brain has nothing to do with.
I know how to drive. And I'm better at it than he is.”
“Forthrightness is the brain’s default response: our neural wiring transmits our every minor mood onto the muscles of our face, making our feelings instantly visible. The display of emotion is automatic and unconscious, and so its suppression demands conscious effort. Being devious about what we feel—trying to hide our fear or anger—demands active effort and rarely succeeds perfectly.22”
“Some men spend their lives looking for ways to punish themselves for having been born.”
“Some of the more industrious ones were washing the windshields of cars that had been trapped by the red light. I used to see them from inside cars and think they brought it on themselves, and they probably did but now it didn't make a difference. I went over to the fire and warmed my hands with the group. I looked at their faces: idiots, criminals, retards, schizophrenics, paranoids, rejects, fuck-ups, broken-down failures. Alone, once children, never asked to be put on this earth, they ended up as jurors. Their lives were the verdict: the system, the man, something had failed.”
“They who have been bred in the school of politics fail now and always to face the facts.”
“But he - he hated pity as a cat hates water.”
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