«What can you do against the lunatic who is more intelligent than yourself, who gives your arguments a fair hearing and then simply persists in his lunacy?»

«?The whitest white dipped in clinging dirt. Another summer has thrown its corpse on my floor. The streets have given birth to even more strangers. Rivers of urine stripe the sidewalks. It rained the other day and the only thing that occurred to me was it would wash the smell away for a few days. Tonight is the first hot night. Outside my window, the human noise factor is intense. It?s past midnight. They talk too much. They scream liquor-fueled idiot chatter. I pull away and close the door. I think about how it?s all going to play out. How much time people spend trying to get across to each other, trying to clear their names. Trying to overturn the charges brought against them. I have decided to tell them that it?s all true and not seek a fair trial. It?s the only way to be free. Stop trying to matter. I could get my body tattooed with air-colored ink and walk invisibly amongst them. I have heard people say that they felt closer to their parents after they have died. Maybe if I treat people as if they were dead, I could get along with them better. I want to be able to like living people somehow. As it is now, they?re I best coming through speakers or trapped between book covers. Here I go into the heat. Four months as a human anvil.?»

«Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.»

«The plain truth is that I am not a fair man, and don't want to hear both sides»

«Death eats up all things, both the young lamb and old sheep; and I have heard our parson say, death values a prince no more than a clown; all?s fish that comes to his net; he throws at all, and sweeps stakes; he?s no mower that takes a nap at noon-day, but drives on, fair weather or foul, and cuts down the green grass as well as the ripe corn: he?s neither squeamish nor queesy-stomach?d, for he swallows without chewing, and crams down all things into his ungracious maw; and tho? you can see no belly he has, he has a confounded dropsy, and thirsts after men?s lives, which he guggles down like mother?s milk.»