A boy without mischief is like a bowling ball without a liquid center.
Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.
Who ne'er knew salt, or heard the billows roar.
Why, you could wake up dead tomorrow
Because they're stupid, that's why. That's why everybody does everything.
And when long years and seasons wheeling brought around that point of time ordained for him to make his passage homeward, trials and dangers, even so, attended him even in Ithaca, near those he loved.