History does not so much repeat as echo, I suppose.

Events may be horrible or inescapable. Men have always a choice - if not whether, then how, they may endure.

Don't wish to be normal. Wish to be yourself. To the hilt. Find out what you're best at, and develop it, and hopscotch your weaknesses. Wish to be great at whatever you are.

It's a bizarre but wonderful feeling, to arrive dead center of a target you didn't even know you were aiming for.

Miles exhaled carefully, faint with rage and reminded grief. He does not know, he told himself. He cannot know... "Ivan, one of these days somebody is going to pull out a weapon and plug you, and you're going to die in bewilderment, crying, "What did I say? What did I say?" "What did I say?" asked Ivan indignantly.

My dinner party,' Miles grated. 'It's just breaking up.' And sinking. All souls feared lost.

I am who I choose to be. I have always been what I chose, though not always what I pleased.