“I'm afraid of plenty of things," he said. "I just do them anyway.”

“He looked at the gun. "Aren't you afraid?""Of course I am," Anna said. "Of course I'm afraid. But that doesn't help."He shook his head. "No," he said, "it doesn't help to be afraid. Bad things happen anyway. You're right.”

“Man," he said, "I'm not afraid of graveyards. The dead are just, you know, people who wanted the same things you and I want.""What do we want?" I asked blurrily."Aw, man, you know," he said. "We just want, well, the same things these people wanted.""What was that?"He shrugged. "To live, I guess," he said.”

“Anyway, I started bitching one night before the broadcast. Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady.”

“Even if he was ever afraid he knew that he could do it anyway.”

“Speak to her now? But that's just why I'm afraid to speak—because I'm happy now, happy in hope, anyway… . And then?… . But I must! I must! I must! Away with weakness!”