Quicksand

—Blessed are they who expect the worst, for they shall get it!

—If I ever get good at hospital politics, I think I shall start to hate myself.

A cripple can still be a person, but in what sense is a lunatic human? Humanity’s in the mind, in the tangle of thoughts spun by the brain, and once that’s gone what remains is human only in outward shape.

Did you never hear it said that what sets the genius apart from the plodder is the ability to see what happens and not what he expects to happen?

—Why can I never visualize things turning out better as clearly as I can visualize the catastrophes I scraped past by a hair? “Everything for the best in the best of all possible worlds!” Hah!

—Among the other things lunatics make: their own version of truth.

I’m unattuned to happiness.

—What was I thinking earlier about lunatics making their own version of truth? Why specify lunatics?

He regarded himself as inhabiting a jungle in which behind masks of civilised behavior and conventional politeness everybody, doctor or not, was out for what he could get. No means of enhancing his reputation, status and income escaped him.