The Library of the Dead

We're all what we are because of circumstances larger than we are.

Doing something when it is hard, because it is the right thing to do, matters more than doing it when it's easy. The world needs light now more than ever.

The prison of the mind is greater than my real actual prison.

Can't afford to put myself in some sort of ideological straightjacket. That's for losers.

The thing about the dead is you can never bring them back. Doesn’t matter how much you love them. Never mind how much money they had or what good they did in this world. Doesn’t matter how much you pray or which god you turn to. It’s set in stone. One shot is all any of us ever get, and I’ve seen enough regrets from beyond to know how true that is.

There’s a world of a difference between reading and hearing. I mean, you extract the same juice out of the fruit of knowledge – whether it’s coming off pod or page. But with audio, I like hearing the sound of someone else’s voice. I like having a guide with me through the maze. And I can also do other things while I listen, whereas when I read, that’s it. There’s no multitasking there and I ain’t got no time for that.

We are mind, heart and hand. Through these our will is made manifest in the world. We shape it by touching it.

I get it right away. Those guys come in guns blazing, Jesus the shit out of everything, maybe even spray a bit of holy water here and there, chant some jazz from the Book of Occasional Services and shoot off. It's hit or miss with them: sometimes it works, sometimes it don't. But if there's something strange in your postcode, who you gonna call?

Something smells off in the barns. Even in this city of olfactory tragedy, this scent’s more pungent and desperate than anything I’ve encountered before.

There are pockmarks where the bullets went through. It’s said their blood was the first graffiti to paint the walls. Blood is the strongest ink. You can’t erase what’s written in blood, ever.

and get back to my dishes. I know that’s Ballaké Sissoko playing because the sound of the music is now falling cherry blossoms blowing in the wind through a courtyard, curved multi-layered pagodas, and courtiers scurrying about in silken garments.

One shot is all any of us ever get, and I’ve seen enough regrets from beyond to know how true that is.

Even in death, a mother’s love cannot die. There are bonds that bind us tighter than time and matter and this is one of them. It’s elemental, fundamental, woven into the fabric not only of the universe, but of existence itself.

Collaborators like him deserve to be strung up in a public square; because evil doesn't happen because good men do nothing. It happens because they get sucked in, they participate. There are no neutral observers in this world.

The only currency more powerful than money in this world is the violence of man.

Eliminating what is not true is just as important as knowing what is true.

I guess the world always looks more beautiful through scope. But if you use a microscope, you see things how they really are - up close and personal - and what you get is much scarier.

Don't make the same mistake I made a long time ago and lose yourself in the soulless pursuit of money, child. It's in the most trying times, when we ourselves have nothing, that we mustn't forget there are higher virtues like compassion, kindness and solidarity. Doing something when it's hard, because it is the right thing to do, matters more than doing it when it's easy. The world needs light now more than ever.

Don’t make the same mistake I made a long time ago and lose yourself in the soulless pursuit of money, child. It’s in the most trying times, when we ourselves have nothing, that we mustn’t forget there are higher virtues like compassion, kindness and solidarity. Doing something when it is hard, because it is the right thing to do, matters more than doing it when it’s easy. The world needs light now more than ever.

It’s in the most trying times, when we ourselves have nothing, that we mustn’t forget there are higher virtues like compassion, kindness and solidarity. Doing something when it is hard, because it is the right thing to do, matters more than doing it when it’s easy.

Before I can grab the handles, Priya’s off. I panic and go after her. The wheelchair clanks down the stairs, gaining speed. Her head bobs from side to side. The chair’s bouncing and clattering, making quite the racket. And even though I’m taking two steps at a time, I can’t keep up with it. She’s definitely gonna fall and hurt herself, while I stand by like a bloody lemon. ‘Oh my God,’ I cry. The noise of the wheels as they hit the stairs is insane, then it ends with a bang when Priya reaches the floor below. I’m a few seconds behind, experiencing a heart attack. Priya swivels her chair, which is still moving away from me, and turns just as I land on the floor. ‘Look at your face,’ she says, laughing, and slaps her thighs, tears rolling down her cheeks. I stop to catch my breath. My heart’s pounding in my ribcage. I bend over and touch my knees. Total fuckery this.

to alarm her with the terrors I hear

I haven’t had too many customers from here, though. The folks I deal with tend to be the ones in newer cemeteries or unconsecrated council ground. There, you get a turnover of occupants because the plots are rented. Final resting place aint so final, it seems.

That’s the cool thing about Gran. She reads you and doesn’t push you too hard if there’s stuff you wanna keep to yourself. She’ll prod, then back off, until you’re good and ready to come to her yourself.

It like, I’ve come into contact with people linked to this whole applesauce and I’ve got nothing out of it.

They called it Petty France, a corruption of Petite France, and then the locals got tired of all the pretentiousness and so Little France it became. Can't see why they didn't go for Wee France instead, but who cares? There's a long history of the French coming over here doing Frenchy things too; there was that whole Catholic-Protestant malarkey where the Royal Infirmary is, and I park up in an empty bay But anyway, that's near A&E.

I’m almost surprised I can do that. Just walk out at will. Go where I wanna go. That’s real magic of ice ever seen any.

Sometimes the guys I listen to say contradictory things and I have to choose for myself who's right and who's wrong. Other times they're both right and it makes no sense to pick one over the other, so you just have to be pragmatic: pick what works now and discard it for something else when the time comes. That's how I like to operate. Can't afford to put myself in some sort of ideological straitjacket. That's for losers. I get a ping back from Priya saying be careful and not to make a move until she gets back. I ask her how the conference is going, and she says it's a posh wank. Figures. Really shouldn't cycle and text at the same time. I don't need Uncle Tzu to tell me that's dumb.