The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no waning and the noon of his expression signals the onset of night. His spirit is exhausted at the peak of its achievement. His meridian is at once his darkening and the evening of his day.

How would you know if you were the last man on Earth? He said. I don't guess you would know it. You'd just be it. Nobody would know it. It wouldn't make any difference. When you die it's the same as if everybody else died too.

There was nothin to set a man's mind at ease like wakin up in the morning and not havin to decide who you were.

She said that these were things all women knew yet seldom spoke of. Lastly she said that if women were drawn to rash men it was only that in their secret hearts they knew that a man who would not kill for them was of no use at all.

The martyr who longs for the flames can be no right candidate for them.

The world could only be known as it existed in men's hearts. For while it seemed a place which contained men it was in reality a place contained within them.

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