There are people who will say that this whole account is a lie, but a thing isn't necessarily a lie even if it didn't necessarily happen.

A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cates, dogs, butterflies and people.

One must withdraw for a time from life in order to set down that picture.

He drank too much when he could get it, ate too much when it was there, talked too much all the time.

You got a God. Don't make no difference if you don' know what he looks like.

'I know,' said Winter, 'but they don't know.' And he went on with a thought he had been having. 'A time-minded people,' he said, 'and the time is nearly up. They think that just because they have only one leader and one head, we are all like that. They know that ten heads lopped off will destroy them, but we are a free people; we have as many heads as we have people, and in a time of need leaders pop up among us like mushrooms.'

They's times when how you feel got to be kep' to yourself.