“(After death.) So few people who come across, possess awareness of any kind. All they bring along with them are worthless values. All they desire is continuation of what they had in life no matter how misguided or degraded. . . Will those people ever progress, even with our help?”

“Not only did I rediscover every experience of my life, I had to live each unfulfilled desire as well—as though they’d been fulfilled. I saw that what transpires in the mind is just as real as any flesh and blood occurrence. What had only been imagination in life, now became tangible, each fantasy a full reality. I lived them all—while, at the same time, standing to the side, a witness to their, often, intimate squalor. A witness cursed with total objectivity.”

“God help me, he thought. God help all us poor wretches who could create and find we must lose our hearts for it because we cannot afford to spend our time at it. (“Mad House”)”

“…Not that it was unjust; not that the scales were forced out of balance. Where there had been good, it showed as clearly. Kindnesses, accomplishments, all those were present, too.”

“Chris Nielsen: Thank you for every kindness. Thank you for our children. For the first time I saw them. Thank you for being someone I was always proud to be with. For your guts, for your sweetness. For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you. God, you were my life. I apologize for everytime I ever failed you. Especially this one... ”

“But are his needs any more shocking than the needs of any other animals and men? Are his deeds more outrageous than the deeds of the parent who drained the spirit from his child? The vampire may foster quickened heartbeats and levitated hair. But is he worse than the parent who gave to society a neurotic child who became a politician? Is he worse than the manufacturer who set up belated foundations with the money he made by handing bombs and guns to suicidal nationalists? Is he worse than the distiller who gave bastardized grain juice to stultify further the brains of those who, sober, were incapable of progressive thought? (Nay, I apologize for this calumny; I nip the brew that feeds me.) Is he worse, then, than the publisher who filled ubiquitous racks with lust and death wishes? Really, no, search your soul, lovie--is the vampire so bad?”

“... 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.”