I never figured it was a cowardly thing to be scared. It's to be scared and still face up to what scares you that matters.

Few of us ever live in the present. We are forever anticipating what is to come or remembering what has gone.

No man ever raised a monument to a cynic or wrote a poem about a man without faith.

No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have their own associations.

A book is less important for what it says than for what it makes you think.

It is an old custom of these people to pick up a stone and toss it on the pile. Perhaps it is a symbolical lightening of the load they carry, perhaps a small offering to the gods of the trails.

After a few days, I mused, I would have no trouble. Whoever heard of a revolution of fat men?