"It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died."
"Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction."
"Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?"
"They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more."
"Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?"
"for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right."