“I believe he’s a brilliant man with a monstrous self-love and no soul. Put those qualities together, and there are roots planted for a morbid blossoming.”

“What is the self?A man goes to the window to see the people passing by; if I pass by, can I say he went there to see me? No, for he is not thinking of me in particular. But what about a person who loves someone for the sake of her beauty; does he love her? No, for smallpox, which will destroy beauty without destroying the person, will put an end to his love for her.And if someone loves me for my judgement or my memory, do they love me? me, myself? No, for I could lose these qualities without losing my self. Where then is this self, if it is neither in the body nor the soul? And how can one love the body or the soul except for the sake of such qualities, which are not what makes up the self, since they are perishable? Would we love the substance of a person's soul, in the abstract, whatever qualities might be in it? That is not possible, and it would be wrong. Therefore we never love anyone, but only qualities.Let us then stop scoffing at those who win honour through their appointments and offices, for we never love anyone except for borrowed qualities.”

“I believe I've put forth a tiny soul-root into Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. I hate to feel transplanted.”

“Every great tragedy forms a fertile soil in which a great recovery can take root and blossom...but only if you plant the seeds.”

“When you plant a seed of love, it is you that blossoms.”

“This voice had a quality to it, a monstrous quality, wild and untamed.”