But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.

Young people in my generation were sort of in lockstep, and it wasn't just the '40s, either. In the '30s and in the '50s it was the same. No one ever dropped out unless he got sick or got kicked out.

Peace is indivisible, and the surrounding world confusion found no reflection inside me.

As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.

You have to do what you think is the right thing, but just make sure it’s the right thing in the long run, and not just for the moment.

It was hard to remember in the heavy and sensual clarity of these mornings; I forgot whom I hated and who hated me. I wanted to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because these mornings were too full of beauty for me, because I knew of too much hate to be contained in a world like this.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.