Some's bastards, some's ain't. That's the score.

Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom?

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

Man lowers his head and lunges into civilization, forgetting the days of his infancy when he sought truth in a snowflake or a stick. Man forgets the wisdom of the child.

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.

While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light

I clearly saw the skeleton underneath all this show of personality what is left of a man and all his pride but bones?