All our lives are activity without meaning; we burrow ratlike into life and we squirm ratlike through it and ratlike we are flung into our graves at the end. Now and then, why shouldn't we hear a voice of prophecy.

As long as people are going to call you lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.

Why lock yourself in your own cage when someone is handing you a key?

How deeply bound by cords of family anger we all are[...]None of us breaks free.

I learned to fly on a broom," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "I can learn to milk a goat, I bet." Though flying on a broom proved to be the easier task, he found.

My job is to protect you, Lady Glinda even if you are loosing your mind.

It's been a long rocky life, with plenty of possibility but too much human ugliness.