It was truer to my father to let the songs he'd sung die with him, little by little, averse at a time. How could these art-mongers constantly ignore the mortality of beauty, a pleonasm if ever I'd heard one?

Any similarity between existing people and certain characters in this book is due solely to insight into human nature.

I've never had any rights in this country and I'm happy to renounce any I'm supposed to have. That way they can't bother me.