On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.

Tell me who I am. (29)

It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.

Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.

I don't want five hundred billion neural chips. I want guts.

Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.