... a man leaves much when he leaves his own country.

Years later he'd stood in the charred ruins of a library where blackened books lay in pools of water. Shelves tipped over. Some rage at the lies arranged in their thousands row on row. He picked up one of the books and thumbed through the heavy bloated pages. He'd not have thought the value of the smallest thing predicated on a world to come. It surprised him. That the space which these things occupied was itself an expectation.

Well, I guess in all honesty I would have to say that I never knew nor did I ever hear of anybody that money didnt change.

This place aint the same. It never will be. Maybe we've all got a little crazy. I guess if everbody went crazy together nobody would notice, what do you think?

Pain for the old was no longer a surprise.

The voice of the Almighty speaks most profoundly in such things as lives in silence themselves.

There is no later. This is later.