Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

-no girl had ever moved me with a story of spiritual suffering and so beautifully her soul showing out radiant as an angel wandering in hell and the hell the selfsame streets I'd roamed in watching, watching for someone just like her and never dreaming the darkness and the mystery and eventuality of our meeting in eternity.

Something good will come out of all things yet — And it will be golden and eternal just like that.

"What do you want out of life?" I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls.

Down in Denver, all I did was die.

I promise I shall never give up, and that I'll die yelling & laughing.

The taste of rain -- Why kneel?