Now you see. We are all fugitives. We have always been fugitives from the void. Whatever comfort, whatever power we gain from outside of ourselves diminishes us -- because comfort and power, unless they are won from the void inside of us, are illusions that make us forget the emptyness that carries us. When we forget that, we believe we deserve comfort and power and so are capable of any evil. We deserve nothing but what we make of ourselves. We deserve nothing else. And when we understand that, then nothing is enough.

The myriad choices of his fateSet themselves out upon a plateFor him to chooseWhat had he to lose

It's a breath you took too late.It's a death that's worse than fate.

Here, also, the future was cried aloud by the wind through the rocks, so that all those who heard would shiver, and then the liquid spring song of the thrush would make all the beauty of moonlight and sunlight blend together, making it true, so true, that happiness must come again

It seems to happen sudden__ fighter gets good. He gets easy and graceful. He learns how to save himself__o energy wasted... he slips and slides_ he travels with the punch. . . . Oh, sure, I like the way you're shaping up.

We should get jerseys, cause we make a good team; but yours would look better than mine, cause you're outta my league.