“Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.”

“He knew the truth. Yes, my dear child, he would undoubtedly tell a terrified toddler tremulously seeking succor, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.”

“How oft do they rescue or ruin us, through whimsy or design or a combination of both, the adults to whom we entrust our care!”

“A man lies upon the floor, spreads his arms, and transforms himself into a ship of a thousand sails.”

“But monsters, I now know, come in all shapes and sizes, and only their appetite for human flesh defines them.”

“Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.”

“We are slaves, all of us...Some are slaves to fear. Others are slaves to reason—or base desire. It is our lot to be slaves...and the question must be to what shall we owe our indenture? Will it be to truth or to falsehood, hope or despair, light or darkness? I choose to serve the light, even though that bondage often lies in darkness.”