“He feels the need to hear a human voice—a fully human voice like his own. Sometimes he laughs like a hyena or roars like a lion—his idea of a hyena his idea of a lion.”

“At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.”

“He has to find more and better ways of occupying his time. His time, what a bankrupt idea, as if he's been given a box of time belonging to him alone, stuffed to the brim with hours and minutes that he can spend like money. Trouble is, the box has holes in it and the time is running out, no matter what he does with it.”

“I follow suit, said the lion, vacating his coat of arms and movie logos; and the eagle said, Get me off this flag.”

“and each of his voices left his body in a different colored soul and floated up towards the sun still singing.”

“A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used. Powerlessness and silence go together.”

“Once in a while, though, he went on binges. He would sneak into bookstores or libraries, lurk around the racks where the little magazines were kept; sometimes he'd buy one. Dead poets were his business, living ones his vice. Much of the stuff he read was crap and he knew it; still, it gave him an odd lift. Then there would be the occasional real poem, and he would catch his breath. Nothing else could drop him through space like that, then catch him; nothing else could peel him open.”