The Singing Detective

The rain, it falls. The sun, it shines. The wind blows. And that’s what it’s like. You’re buffeted by this, by that, and it is nothing to do with you. Someone you love dies, or leaves. You get ill or you get better.

All my hopes and desires and fondest aspirations have finally been reduced to their true dimensions, my old son. ... Look at that blue smoke, Ali. See the way it coils and drifts. Just like every human hope. ...