And something tells me if it matters, maybe it shouldn't be easy.

Neither sleet nor rain nor a half inch of snow will compel me to dress like a lumberjack.

Accidents. It's all about the accidents.

I'm also starting to wonder something else. If maybe the point of this crazy quest I'm on wasn't to help me find Willem. Maybe it was to help me find someone else entirely.

Hate me. Devastate me. Annihilate me. Re-create me. Re-create me. Won't you, won't you won't you re-create me.

You're just trying on different identities, like everyone in those Shakespeare plays. And the people we pretend at, they're already in us. That's why we pretend them in the first place.

Every fiction has its base in fact.