There was a sky somewhere above the tops of the buildings, with stars and a moon and all the things there are in a sky, but they were content to think of the distant street lights as planets and stars. If the lights prevented you from seeing the heavens, then preform a little magic and change reality to fit the need. The street lights were now planets and stars and moon.

...and he just sat back and stared at the tube, almost interested in what was happening, trying to find the ability to believe in that lie so he could believe the one within.

If love is what I've experienced, I can't separate it from other people. I can't separate creation, and I can't separate whatever this creative thing is, from it's creation. I don't believe that can be done. We're all part of this creative force.

I suspect there will never be a requiem for a dream, simply because it will destroy us before we have the opportunity to mourn it's passing.

I don't know that I could really define love. I can't . . . again, it's like trying to define what this creative force is. It's beyond my ability to really define. If I can define it, then it's not it. We're right back to that thing again.

For weeks Tyrone thought he was going to die any minute, and there were also times when he was afraid he wasnt going to die.

However they may have felt when they left they were now committed, they had passed the point of no return.