...by the time we understand the pattern we are in, the definition we are making for ourselves, it's too late to break out of the box. We can only live in terms of the definition, like the prisoner in the cage in which he cannot lie or stand or sit, hung up in justice to be viewed by the populace. Yet the definition we have made of ourselves is ourselves. To break out of it, we must make a new self. But how can the self make a new self when the selfness which it is, is the only substance from which the new self can be made?

Goodness . . . You got to make it out of badness . . . Because there isn't anything else to make it out of.

Dying--shucks! If you kin handle the living, what's to be afraid of the dying?

...a man does not die for words. He dies for his relation to them.

The lack of a sense of history is the damnation of the modern world.

What if angry vectors veer Round your sleeping head, and form. There's never need to fear Violence of the poor world's abstract storm.

We are the prisoners of history. Or are we?