“Some of them were confused and angry, but given the same circumstances, I was convinced that I would have turned out just like them. It was the difference in where we were born, and to whom, that separated us---not the difference of who we were.”

“Everyday we have to go to classroom 107A, where portions of English, math and social studies are meted out like different nutrients of a hospital diet.”

“The city was a machine of its own, continuously producing. We were constantly pumped out through its assembly line, in different forms or models. We came hardwired with different stories, dark secrets, vices, and defects. Over time, we fail and come to find our end, but the city continues onwards.”

“When I was a kid, I thought I had my life figured out. I knew where I was going. I was sure of whom I was and what I was. I was wrong. See, life is a journey of twist and turns that mold who we are; however, it is not the twist and turns which mold us, but rather, how we take and handle the twist and turns thrown at us. It was not until life threw me flat on my face that I truly discovered who I am and what I am. I am a perpetual work-in-progress. And you know what? I am quite all right with that.”

“And what should he have known? Well, who could answer that? Thought he was closer to all the players than anyone, he still couldn't identify who was responsible and who wasn't. Really responsible, not just "look the other way" responsible. They all were, in some larger sense. And yet, while he knew this was a wholly indefensible position, he felt that somehow none of them were, either. Just like the guys at Lehmen, or Bear Stearns, or AIG. Just like the guys at Delphic. It became a game, a contest; the only rules that governed were what made you money and what didn't. All Paul did was hang the hell on and try not to get thrown.”

“Each of us is uniquely qualified for some task. We have but to find it.”

“I read it over and over again. I turned it over, turned it back, smoothed it out on my pillow and then read it some more. It was written on a piece of torn-out spiral notebook paper. It had seams like it had been folded and unfolded a few times. I looked into the manila envelope again to see if there was anything else. There wasn't.”