They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing.

What is it? Nothing. I had a bad dream. What did you dream about? Nothing. Are you okay? No. He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said. I was crying. But you didnt wake up. I'm sorry. I was just so tired. I meant in the dream.

By the time I was sixteen I had read many books and I had become a freethinker.

This country will kill you in a heartbeat and still people love it.

If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?

A dream inside a dream might not be a dream.

The core of literature is the idea of tragedy... You don't really learn much from the good things that happen to you.