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.

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

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?

She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift.

You either stick or you quit. And I wouldnt quit you I dont care what you done.

Men speak of blind destiny, a thing without scheme or purpose. But what sort of destiny is that? Each act in this world from which there can be no turning back has before it another, and it another yet. In a vast endless net. Men imagine that the choices before them are theirs to make. But we are free to act only upon what is given. Choice is lost in the maze of generations and each act in the maze is itself an enslavement for it voids every alternative and binds one ever more tightly into the constraints that make a life.

I think by the time you're grown you're as happy as you're goin to be. You'll have good times and bad times, but in the end you'll be about as happy as you was before. Or as unhappy. I've knowed people that just never did get the hang of it.