I still don't even know if the sheriff will let me see him. And suppose he did; what then? What do I say to him? Do I know what a man is? Do I know how a man is supposed to die? I'm still trying to find out how a man should live. Am I supposed to tell someone how to die who has never lived?

Anytime a child is born, the old people look in his face and ask him if he's the One.

I have no more to say except this: We must live with our own conscience.

Everything's been said, but it needs saying again.

When I'm sitting in the church alone, I can hear singing of the old people. I can hear their singing and I can hear their praying, and sometimes I hum one of their songs.

You've got to bend with the wind or you're broken.

Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing two men holding guns than holding hands?