The road to Hell, you say, is paved with good intentions. Charming. But actually it’s paved with intriguing questions.
Plus there was the standard French insult of ignoring your French and answering in English.
He didn’t protest much. Evidently he had a penchant for surrender.
Show us the world’s not the way we thought it was and part of us rejoices.
This would be my torture: all that didn’t bear thinking about would devote itself to forcing me to bear thinking about it.
She’d been an actress, an artist’s model, once or twice a kept woman, through all a voracious reader.
He had a reservoir of tolerance for pain. Finite, though. Pain would empty it, eventually.
The moment demanded action and all we had was paralysis.
Nothing apparently, disturbed the mans air of having his mind on something more important than you. You wanted to slap him.
I didn’t cry. Real things don’t make me cry. Only false or sentimental things can do that. In this respect I’m like most civilised humans.
That’s the problem with being alive,” she says, staring at the floor. “You’ve got to keep thinking of what to do.
Reading a book is a dangerous thing, Justine. A book can make you find room in yourself for something you never thought you’d understand. Or worse, something you never wanted to understand.
Open, the eyes of the dead are a travesty, a parody, make a fool of the deceased. Open, the eyes of the dead perform that most indecent subtraction, show the person without his life.
It’s why we close the eyes, too. The dead shouldn’t have to look on the lewd aliveness of the living.
It’s Big Brother with werewolves. Live coverage for a month, leading up to a group kill on full moon.
Hot tip: If you’re a human having a fling with a werewolf, break it off. Now.
Literature is humanity’s broad-minded alter-ego, with room in its heart for monsters, even for you. It’s humanity without the judgement.
You think God will never forgive you, but the only God is beauty and beauty always forgives. It forgives with its infinite indifference.
With adolescent egotism and a lot of money one can pretty much rule the world.
That’s what happens when you keep a secret from someone you love: you start to hate them for allowing you to prove your own willingness to deceive them.