I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.

If anything attacked us, we could just panic at it until it went away.

If we didn't fear the truths we didn't hear, we'd lose the need to fear the ones we did.

Crazy gets all the knives.

Alive or dead, the truth won't rest. Rise up while you can.

See, Quentin, that’s why you should wear a cup before trying to assassinate someone.

They come to us, these restless dead, Shrouds woven from the words of men, With trumpets sounding overhead (The walls of hope have grown so thin And all our vaunted innocence Has withered in this endless frost) That promise little recompense For all we risk, for all we've lost.