“I think...she said finally, "that all of us have got our ghosts.”

“I think in some way it's like that for all of us, living with the ghosts of things that used to be, or never were. We're all of us haunted by yesterday, and we got no choice but to keep marching into our tomorrows.”

“Whose are all these ghosts?” she said, smiling at a flustered-looking Geraldine. “Oh,” said Geraldine, “I think they might be mine...?”

“Ghosts! […] I almost think we are all of us ghosts. It is not only what we have inherited from our father and mother that ‘walks’ in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light.”

“I think maybe I know why,' she finally said.'Why?''Maybe all the strings inside him broke,' she said.”

“She said a good day ain't got no rain She said a bad day is when I lie in the bed And I think of things that might have been”