Then I saw that sparkle in Naji's eye and knew he was laughing at me.
"See?" he said. "Now you know how it feels"
I glared at him for a few seconds. He looked kind of pleased with himself, but he also looked kind of happy, and that was enough for me to turn back to my equations.

You can't escape an assasin," He leaned forward, shadows swallowing his eyes. "Hangings, bumbling bureaucrats, dishonest crewman, jail - those you can talk your way out of, you try hard enough. But this kind of death is the is the only kind of death.

If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you'd be doomed. You'd be ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

I didn't know I was about to be left with her idea of me; with her idea of my goodness pinned onto me like a badge and no chance to throw it back at her (as would have been the normal course of affairs with a mother and a daughter—if she'd lived, as I'd grown older).

How I would like to have them back, those pointless afternoons - the boredom, the aimlessness, the unformed possibilities.

In case you're wondering, vanity never ends.