“A surfeiting of terror soon made terror a cliché.”

“Full circle. A new terror born in death, a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress of forever. I am legend.”

“Robert Neville looked out over the new people of the earth. He knew he did not belong to them; he knew that, like the vampires, he was anathema and black terror to be destroyed. And, abruptly, the concept came, amusing to him even in his pain. ... Full circle. A new terror born in death, a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress of forever. I am legend.”

“If men only felt about death as they do about sleep, all terrors would cease. . . Men sleep contentedly, assured that they will wake the following morning. They should feel the same about their lives.”

“In a typical desperation for quick answers, easily understood, people had turned to primitive worship as the solution. With less than success. Not only had they died as quickly as the rest of the people, but they had died with terror in their hearts, with a mortal dread flowing in their very veins.”

“... And suddenly he thought, I'm the abnormal one now. Normalcy was amajority concept, the standard of many and not the standard of justone man.Abruptly that realization joined with what he saw on their faces --awe, fear, shrinking horror -- and he knew that they were afraid ofhim. To them he was some terrible scourge they had never seen, ascourge even worse than the disease they had come to live with. He wasan invisible spectre who had left for evidence of his existence thebloodless bodies of their loved ones. And he understood what they feltand did not hate them. His right hand tightened on the tiny envelopeof pills. So long as the end did not come with violence, so long as itdid not have to be a butchery before their eyes...Robert Neville looked out over the new people of the earth. He knew hedid not belong to them; he knew that, like the vampires, he wasanathema and black terror to be destroyed. And, abruptly, the conceptcame, amusing to him even in his pain.A coughing chuckle filled his throat. He turned and leaned against thewall while he swallowed the pills. Full circle, he thought while thefinal lethargy crept into his limbs. Full circle. A new terror born indeath, a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress offorever.I am legend.”

“Maybe I can do some writing then. The phrase made him sick. It had no meaning anymore. Like a word that is repeated until it becomes gibberish that sentence, for him, had been used to extinction. It sounded silly; like some bit of cliché from a soap opera. Hero saying in dramatic tones – Now, by God, maybe I can do some writing. Senseless. For a moment, though, he wondered if it was true. Now that she was leaving could he forget about her and really get some work done? Quit his job? Go somewhere and hold up in a cheap furnished room and write? You have $123.89 in the bank, his mind informed him. He pretended it was the only thing that kept him from it. But, far back in his mind, he wondered if he could write anything. Often the question threw itself at him when he was least expecting it. You have four hours every morning, the statement would rise like a menacing wraith. You have time to write many thousands of words. Why don't you? And the answer was always lost in a tangle of becauses and wells and endless reasons that he clung to like a drowning man at straws.(“Mad House”)”