Most everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories.
Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps. And that's how we've got to live.
Each person feels pain in his own way, each has his own scars.
Most young people were getting jobs in big companies, becoming company men. I wanted to be individual.
One impossible day, of an impossible month, of an impossible year.
If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever—something I couldn't afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they're seventeen.