Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

The things that I loved were very frail. Very fragile. I didn't know that. I thought they were indestructible. They weren't.

He was just hungry, Papa. He's going to die. He's going to die anyway. He's so scared, Papa. The man squatted and looked at him. I'm scared, he said. Do you understand? I'm scared. The boy didn't answer. He just sat there with his head down, sobbing. You're not the one who has to worry about everything. The boy said something but he couldn't understand him. What? He said. He looked up, his wet and grimy face. Yes I am, he said. I am the one.

He can give me what you cannot. Death is not a lover. Oh yes, he is.

Fear of an enemy can often blind men to other hazards, not least the shape which they themselves make in the world.

My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That's heaven. That's gold, and anything else is just a waste of time.

No one can tell you what your life is goin to be, can they? No. It's never like what you expected. Quijada nodded. If people knew the story of their lives how many would then elect to live them?