“And we are made different. On the instant. What we know, what we were, is banished by that instant, razed like a castle under siege, and nothing is recognizable is left. The world is unmade.”

“The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.”

“What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.”

“What we see of the world is the mind'sInvention and the mindThough stained by it, becomingRivers, sun, mule-dung, flies-Can instantly shiftA dirty bird in square time”

“Stories pass the experienced world back and forth between them as a metaphor, until it is worn out. Only then do we realize that meaning is an act. We must repossess it, instant to instant in our lives.”

“Life is too short..and nothing is certain. Nothing. Just because you tell someone you'll talk to them later, or you'll see them tomorrow, there is no guarantee that either of those things will happen. You hope they will. Hell, we all assume they will. But we don't really know. Life can change in an instant. A single instant.”