On this thin, scarcely real and yet so perceptible sensation the whole world hung as on a faintly trembling axis, and this in turn rested on the two people in the room.

One room is always enough for one person. Two rooms is not enough for two people. That is one of the conundrums in life.

There're two people in the world that are not likeable: a master and a slave.

Philosophers are people who do violence, but have no army at their disposal, and so subjugate the world by locking it into a system.

Time, which runs through the world like an endless tinsel thread, seemed to pass through the centre of this room and through the centre of these people and suddenly to pause and petrify, stiff, still and glittering... and the objects in the room drew a little closer together.

A suicide kills two people, Maggie, that's what it's for!