When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: "Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter?" And a big soft gust of rain came down. He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.

He had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars.

We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell

A sociable smile is nothing but a mouth full of teeth.

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.

I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief.

and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear?