When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we're nothing.

If you're going to say what you want to say, you're going to hear what you don't want to hear.

They could read him, they could study him, they could pick him apart, but they couldn't laugh or be sad with him.

I’m seventeen years old, my name is Juan García Madero, and I’m in my first semester of law school. I wanted to study literature, not law, but my uncle insisted, and in the end I gave in. I’m an orphan, and someday I’ll be a lawyer. That’s what I told my aunt and uncle, and then I shut myself in my room and cried all night.

Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.

When you die of sorrow it's as if you've broken all the bones in your body, bruised yourself all over, cracked your skull. That's sorrow.

Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn't clear ... was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.