“Oh, such a shame, such a shame. Oh, such a shame. What’s it all about anyhow?”“I’ve wondered for a long time.”“But why bring it to me?”“I guess I’m the Black Death,” he said slowly. “I don’t seem to bring people happiness any more.”

“I guess I'm the Black Death,' he said slowly. 'I don't seem to bring people happiness any more.”

“Actually that’s my secret — I can’t even talk about you to anybody because I don’t want any more people to know how wonderful you are.”

“Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses-”

“Oh, it doesn't get me. I'm pretty well cloistered, and I suppose books mean more than people to me anyway.”

“The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing. Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged.”

“For the first time in years the tears were streaming down his face. But they were for himself now. He did not care about mouth and eyes and moving hands. He wanted to care, and he could not care. For he had gone away and he could never go back any more. The gates were closed, the sun was gone down, and there was no beauty but the gray beauty of steel that withstands all time. Even the grief he could have borne was left behind in the country of illusion, of youth, of the richness of life, where his winter dreams had flourished."Long ago," he said, "long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.”