It's a terrible thing when a person dies, whatever the circumstances. A hole opens up in the world, and we need to pay the proper respects. If we don't, the hole will never be filled in again.

It made her think of Laika, the dog. The man-made satellite streaking soundlessly across the blackness of outer space. The dark, lustrous eyes of the dog gazing out the tiny window. In the infinite loneliness of space, what could the dog possibly be looking at?

As long as an individual's alive, he will undergo experience in some form or other, and those experiences are stored up instant by instant. To stop experiencin' is to die.

Does G get angry because it follows F in the alphabet? Does page 68 in a book start a revolution because it follows 67?

Sometimes when I think of life, I feel like a piece of driftwood washed up on shore.

Even if you don't acknowledge it, people die, and guys sleep with girls. That's just how it is.

I'm a very ordinary human being; I just happen to like reading books.