I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it. - Margaret Atwood

These pictures were supposed to be erotic, and I thought they were, at the time; but I see now what they were really about. They were paintings about suspended animation; about waiting, about objects not in use. They were paintings about boredom. But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men.

Why is war so much like a practical joke? she thinks. Hiding behind bushes, leaping out, with not much difference between Boo! and Bang! except the blood.

He doesn’t understand yet that guilt comes to you not from the things you’ve done, but from the things that others have done to you.