″‘I don’t think (Newt’s painting is) very nice,’ Angela complained. ‘I think it’s ugly, but I don’t know anything about modern art. Sometimes I wish Newt would take some lessons, so he could know for sure if he was doing something or not.‘”
When compared to the fact that he might very well be dead by this time tomorrow, whether he was courageous or not today was pointless, empty. When compared to the fact that he might be dead tomorrow, everything was pointless. Life was pointless. Whether he looked at a tree or not was pointless. It just didn’t make any difference. It was pointless to the tree, it was pointless to every man in his outfit, pointless to everybody in the whole world. Who cared? It was not pointless only to him; and when he was dead, when he ceased to exist, it would be pointless to him too.”
″‘If you could do anything in the world this afternoon, what would you do?’ enquired Uncle Parker, his eyes still closed...
‘Be immortal,’ said Jack promptly.
‘Bit pointless,’ observed Uncle Parker.”
″‘You’re a bottler,’ said Charlie gratefully. ‘Isn’t she, Simey?’
Simon couldn’t answer. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would yell ‘Don’t call me that’. And what was the use? It would just make another name that nobody could say. They had to call him Simey; they were Edie and Charlie.”
″‘He was sent to Warsaw to kill us,’ said Ruth. ‘I don’t suppose he wanted to very much. If he were here now, he would treat us as friends, as you do, Frau Wolff. It all seems so stupid and senseless.‘”