“Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind.”

“The next day I was in my car driving along the freeway when at a red light another car pulled alongside. A white woman was driving and on the passenger's side, next to me, was a white man. "Malcolm X!" he called out-and when I looked, he stuck his hand out of his car, across at me, grinning. "Do you mind shaking hands with a white man?" Imagine that! Just as the traffic light turned green, I told him, "I don't mind shaking hands with human beings. Are you one?"”

“The moment I appeared the crowd started jeering and booing and shouting ‘faggot’ and spitting, I had hired a bodyguard and when the jeering started I turned to see where the bodyguard was, I could just see the back of his head as he was running out of the stadium.”

“What's wrong?"
I didn't say a word."
Something's up. What is it?"
Nothing."
His head turned, gaze going to mine. "Yeah?"
Yes."
A snort and he returned to his bowl…”

“When God closes a door, he opens a window, but it's up to you to find it.”

“I hadn't heard the door open, but the man was on the spot once more. My private belief, as I think I have mentioned before, is that Jeeves doesn't have to open doors. He's like one of those birds in India who bung their astral bodies about--the chaps, I mean, who having gone into thin air in Bombay, reassemble the parts and appear two minutes later in Calcutta. Only some such theory will account for the fact that he's not there one moment and is there the next. He just seems to float from Spot A to Spot B like some form of gas.”

“He spent the whole time sitting on a log in the woodshed, sometimes starting straight ahead with the fixity of a blind man who knows that even if he turns his head in the other direction he will still not see anything”

“But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.”

“… Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch.
It was Zsadist.
His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang.
The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.”

“Having no other recourse, Roran resorted to the unexpected: he stuck his head and neck out and shouted, "BAH!" just as he would if he were trying to scare someone in a dark hallway…”