The jungle is dark but full of diamonds, Willy.

The best work that anybody ever writes is the work that is on the verge of embarrassing him, always.

It is my art. I am better at it than I ever was. And I will do it as long as I can. When you reach a certain age you can slough off what is unnecessary and concentrate on what is. And why not?

Peace. It is a providence, and no great change; we are only what we always were, but naked now.

The word "now" is like a bomb through the window, and it ticks.

Memory inevitably romanticizes, pressing reality to recede like pain.

Great stones they lay upon his chest until he plead aye or nay. They say he give them but two words. "More weight," he says. And died.