“That's the trouble with losing your mind; by the time it's gone, it's too late to get it back.”

“I glanced at my watch - it was two minutes to eleven; just right for lunch when and if we ever got to the godforsaken lodge - and took some comfort from the thought that at least I still had my wits about me. Or at least I felt as if I did. Presumably, a confused person would be too addled to recognize that he was confused. Ergo, if you know that you are not confused then you are not confused. Unless, it suddenly occurred to me - and here was an arresting notion - unless persuading yourself that you are not confused is merely a cruel, early symptom of confusion. Or even an advanced symptom. Who could tell? For all I knew I could be stumbling into some kind of helpless preconfusional state characterized by the fear on the part of the sufferer that he may be stumbling into some kind of helpless preconfusional state. That's the trouble with losing your mind; by the time it's gone, it's too late to get it back.”

“Love never comes when you're ready for it... As soon as you're ready for it, it's too late, and it's gone.”

“Trouble? Everybody gets into trouble in America -- That's what it's about.”

“Well that's too bad.Because it's too late. She's gone.She slipped away.”

“Quoting her mother: The trouble with a book is you never know what's in it until it's too late!”