The more you do something, the easier it's supposed to get. [There's an iron edge to his voice, but iron is not as durable as it makes out to be. It rusts, it becomes weathered, and his words carry these inflections of weakness.]

I'd already seen hell before, and I thought, "This is it. No matter what, nothing I face can be worse than this." [Short of meeting his own death, and that probability was always there, stuck on him like his shadow.] But... What I'm finding out is there are all different kinds of hell. An infinite number of them, maybe.