“I’ve never woken to another’s body in the same bed, not since I was a child. There is something about it that makes waking up alone seem unnatural. Man is not meant to be alone, yet men like us (or maybe men like me) appear to be lonelier than others.”

“The multitude of men look satisfied and pleased; as if enjoying a full banquet, as if mounted on a tower in spring. I alone seem listless and still, my desires having as yet given no indication of their presence. I am like an infant which has not yet smiled. I look dejected and forlorn, as if I had no home to go to. The multitude of men all have enough and to spare. I alone seem to have lost everything. My mind is that of a stupid man; I am in a state of chaos.Ordinary men look bright and intelligent, while I alone seem to be benighted. They look full of discrimination, while I alone am dull and confused. I seem to be carried about as on the sea, drifting as if I had nowhere to rest. All men have their spheres of action, while I alone seem dull and incapable, like a rude borderer.(Thus) I alone am different from other men, but I value the nursing-mother (the Tao).”

“Have done with learning,And you will have no more vexation.How great is the difference between "eh" and "o"?What is the distinction between "good" and "evil"?Must I fear what others fear?What abysmal nonsense this is!All men are joyous and beaming,As though feasting upon a sacrificial ox,As though mounting the Spring Terrace;I alone am placid and give no sign,Like a babe which has not yet smiled.I alone am forlorn as one who has no home to return to.All men have enough and to spare:I alone appear to possess nothing.What a fool I am!What a muddled mind I have!All men are bright, bright:I alone am dim, dim.All men are sharp, sharp:I alone am mum, mum!Bland like the ocean,Aimless like the wafting gale.All men settle down in their grooves:I alone am stubborn and remain outside.But wherein I am most different from others isIn knowing to take sustenance from my Mother!”

“For one never thinks of you alone, Cremuel, but in company, studying the faces of other people, as if you yourself mean to paint them. You make other men think, not “what does he look like?” but “what do I look like?”

“They were anxious to make men of us, by which they meant making us like themselves.”

“Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of telling us we were meant to be. Or maybe I, like, cuddle raped him or something.”