R (zombi) személy
Idézetek
“Fine. Sorry for dehumanising you, R.” She wiggles her left hand's four remaining fingers. “Eat a few of these and call us even?”
38
“I'm not important,” I say to the back of his head. “I'm… impotent.”
“Why do you say that, R?”
I hadn't intended to elaborate, but something in the soft sincerity of his tone makes it bubble out of me. “I can't read. I can't speak. My fingers don't work. My kids won't stop eating people. I don't have a job. I can't make love. Most people want to kill me.”
He chuckles. “No one said life is easy.”
“Does it ever get easier?”
“No.” He looks back at me again. “Well, in your case, maybe a little. But I wouldn't wait around for it. The day you solve your last problem is the day you die.”
64
The apparatus of my tongue and teeth has always been a weapon. How does one use it to heal?
101
Since the first night I closed my eyes and truly dreamed, lying next to Julie on a stranger's mildewed mattress, my relationship with sleep has improved, but it's still dysfunctional. Most nights find me listening to her soft snores deep into the morning, passing the time by trying to decode her twitches and whimpers and half-formed words, imagining what colourful horrors her brain has prepared for her and wondering how to comfort her when she wakes up. If I'm lucky, I'll drift into a shallow slumber for an hour or two, but my mind, traumatised by years of death, remains wary of anything that resembles it.
So in a way, getting knocked unconscious by the butt of a gun is rather refreshing. I haven't slept this well in ages.
109-110
“You don't always have to keep me safe,” she says, her voice suddenly soft, and she somehow manages to smile. “That's not why I love you.”
119
Julie sits in her chair of choice. She picks up her old quilt made of cut-up jeans. But this time she doesn't use it as a shield against me. She pats the middle seat and I sit beside her, luxuriating in the privilege of her trust.
179-180
The first sniff brings nothing but the sensation of air passing through my nostrils. I try again, and this time I get a trace of her, a distant note of that mysterious, earthy bouquet found nowhere but in a woman's hair – she turns around.
“Did you just smell me?”
I jerk my head away and stare straight ahead. “Sorry.”
“Don't smell me. I smell like shit.”
I glance sideways at her. “You don't, though.”
“I can smell myself, and I smell like shit.”
“You don't.”
“Okay, Grenouille, what do I smell like?”
“Like… you.” I lean in and inhale with melodramatic rapture.
She laughs and shoves me away. “You fucking creep.”
216
I don't have to be a monster to hurt people. I can do it gently, with a single careless breath.
217
It feels good to hate my life. It feels safe. If death is what I want, then nothing can ever hurt me.
302