“You thinkof a woman, a favoritedress, your old father's breaststhe last time you saw him, his breath,brief, the leafyou've torn from a vine and which you hold nowto your cheek like a train ticketor a piece of cloth, a little hand or a blade--it all dependson the course of your memory.It's a place for those who own no placeto correspond to ruins in the soul.It's mine.It's all yours.”

“what you brought from your past, is of no use in your present. When you must choose a new path, do not bring old experiences with you. Those who strike out afresh, but who attempt to retain a little of the old life, end up torn apart by their own memories.”

“you live through . . . that little piece of time that is yours, but that piece of time is not only your own life, it is the summing-up of all the other lives that are simultaneous with yours. It is, in other words, History, and what you are is an expression of History.”

“God takes pleasure to see you take your little steps; and like a good father who holds his child by the hand, He will accommodate His steps to yours and will be content to go no faster than you. Why do you worry?”

“Aren’t you a little old for your mom to be picking out your clothes for you? Really? Shopping at the Children’s Place at your age? I’m sure there’s some third-grader dying to know who bought the last navy I-sore shirt. (Nekoda)”

“There never was a man with such a face as yours, unless it was your father, and I suppose he is singeing his grizzled red beard by this time, unless you came straight from the old un without any father at all betwixt you; which I shouldn't wonder at, a bit.”