He turned away from the bar as if he could leave the question there. But questions had no location; they could follow him around. - Richard Matheson

Such thoughts were a hideous testimony to the world he had accepted; a world in which murder was easier than hope.

Crossing your fingers, Neville? Knocking on wood?
He ignored that, beginning to suspect his mind of harboring an alien. Once he might have termed it conscience. Now it was only an annoyance. Morality, after all, had fallen with society. He was his own ethic.
Makes a good excuse, doesn’t it, Neville? Oh, shut up.

It’s at times like this I hate the brain. It always builds more barriers than it can topple.