I have an idea of how the book will finish up, but it very rarely finishes up the way that I think it's going to.

Above, the stars shone hard and bright, sparks struck off the dark skin of the universe.

It always comes down to just two choices. Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Just remember that Dumbo didn't need the feather; the magic was in him.

It's a cash and carry world. Sometimes you pay a little. Mostly it's a lot. Sometimes, it's everything you have.

Homesickness is not always a vague, nostalgic, almost beautiful emotion, although that is somehow the way we always seem to picture it in our mind. It can be a terribly keen blade, not just a sickness in metaphor but in fact as well. It can change the way one looks at the world; the faces one sees in the street look not just indifferent but ugly... perhaps even malignant. Homesickness is a real sickness--the ache of the uprooted plant.

Kill if you will, but command me nothing!