“These were no-man's-lands, limbos of a sort, places where language did not prevail and the only protection was flight, if you could run fast enough; or submission if you couldn't.”
“People are by and large a product of where they were born and raised. How you think and feel's always linked to the lie of the land, the temperature. The prevailing winds, even.”
“Have you ever wondered what language they speak in Limbo?”
“Home was not the place where you were born but the place you created yourself, where you did not need to explain, where you finally became what you were.”
“It was the sort of place where you could hear the tumblers of your mind falling into place as you pieced thought together, as you tried to match it to action.”
“My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that.”