You do not write your life with words...You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.

Then at the top of the hill, the road forks. Which just figures. "You gotta be kidding." I say. One part of the road goes left, the other goes right. (Well, it's a "Fork" ain't it?)

It was solitude, but it was solitude that wasn't lonely. Solitude that could sort things out. And he hadn't had that in ages.

Schooling ain't life." "Ain't it?" she says, her eyebrows raising in mock surprise.

I wish I had a hundred years, she said, very quietly. A hundred years I could give to you.

The green things of this world are just wondrous, aren’t they?” his mother went on. “We work so hard to get rid of them when sometimes they’re the very thing that saves us.

A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.