...his soul (was) ringing like a well-struck bell. But it was a bell that rang with more than joy and adoration — there was the sound there too of anger and resentment. She would not look at him because she did not want to be in his presence. She hated him and he (how could he not?) hated her in return.

- Why you?
- (...) I’m the best.
- Modest of you.
- I am the best. Modesty has nothing to say about it.

(Arbell)The ungrateful gorgeous bitch.

Until two days ago what had driven him was the will to survive: deep, animal, full of rage—but always part of him had not cared at all whether he lived or died. Now he did care, and very deeply, and so for the first time in a long time he was afraid. To love life is, of course, a wonderful thing, but not on this day of all days.

...the older I get, the more I believe that if love is to be judged by most of its visible effects, it looks more like hatred than friendship.

Force is as pitiless to the man who possesses it as it is to its victims—the second it crushes, the first it intoxicates.