To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

And as far as I can see the world is too old for us to talk about it with our new words.

This was really the way my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.

I suddenly discovered the delight of rebellion.

The truth of the matter is, you die, all you do is die, and yet you live, yes you live, and that's no Harvard lie.

You can't live in this world but there's nowhere else to go.

And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?