What I'm not sure about, is if our lives have been so different from the lives of the people we save. We all complete. Maybe none of us really understand what we've lived through, or feel we've had enough time.

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You say you’re sure? Sure that you’re in love? How can you know it? You think love is so simple?

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Poor creatures. What did we do to you? With all our schemes and plans?

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We took away your art because we thought it would reveal your souls. Or to put it more finely, we did it to prove you had souls at all.

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Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.

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All children have to be deceived if they are to grow up without trauma.

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After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished?

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It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you've made, and there's this panic because you don't know yet the scale of disaster you've left yourself open to.

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The problem, as I see it, is that you've been told and not told. You've been told, but none of you really understand, and I dare say, some people are quite happy to leave it that way.

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Indeed — why should I not admit it? — in that moment, my heart was breaking.

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