My gosh, if you’re going away, we got a million things to talk about! All the things we would’ve talked about next month, the month after! Praying mantises, zeppelins, acrobats, sword swallowers!

The minute you get a religion you stop thinking. Believe in one thing too much and you have no room for new ideas.

Somewhere in him, a shadow turned mournfully over. You had to run with a night like this so the sadness could not hurt

Like every beginner, I have thought you could beat, pummel and thrash an idea into existence. Under such treatment, of course, any decent idea folds up its paws, turns on its back, fixes its eyes on eternity, and dies.

Live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds.

From this outer edge of his life, looking back, there was only one remorse, and that was only that he wished to go on living. Did all dying people feel this way, as if they had never lived? Did life seem that short, indeed, over and done before you took a breath? Did it seem this abrupt and impossible to everyone, or only to himself, here, now, with a few hours left to him for thought and deliberation?

That's the good part of dying; when you've nothing to lose, you run any risk you want.