I guess you ought to be careful about cussin the dead. I would say at the least there probably ain't no luck in it.

What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is god.

Can you do it? When the time comes? When the time comes there will be no time. Now is the time. Curse God and die.

He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought that the world’s heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world’s pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.

In his dream she was sick and he cared for her. The dream bore the look of sacrifice but he thought differently. He did not take care of her and she died alone somewhere in the dark and there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell.

If people knew the story of their lives, how many would then elect to live them?