“How do you irradiate the humbly trivial - the sneezes and waiting in bus-queues - with the lofty, and at the same time cherish above all in the lofty those things that nourish you here, today, in all your ordinariness? I cannot understand, in other words, what sort of God would bother to count every hair on my head.”

“...'undertow'. It describes (...) how underneath our own everyday lives - the shopping and squabbles and weeding and trips to the vet - there's a sense of being dragged slowly off, not against our will but regardless of it. And fighting the undertow, as children are quick to learn, is not usually the best way of getting back to the beach. Floating along with it, on the other hand, can be fatal. It's really the struggle, the argument with oneself, that interests...”

“Take a moment today and cherish a thought, for your dreams and your memories are all that you’ve got.”

“My first question is- do you have a name?"A name? Yes.""Ah!" said the wolf. It wrote several extensive notes. "And what is that name?" "George.""I see," said the wolf. "And how long have you been George?""How long? As in, how long have I been alive?" "oh, were you here in some way before you were alive?" asked the wolf, interested."I...don't really know," said George. " I don't think so." "So you don't know if you were here? Or if you were here before your George-time? Is it possible for you to be here, bu not know it?""My what time? no, I mean, I was born, and then they just named me George." "So you are not George," said the wolf. George is just a name. A word. A propulsion of air modified by the flexing of throat parts." "Well, I am George, but...yes. Yes, and...no." "Is it possible that you became George at a later time, having been originally named that thing?" asked the wolf. " What if the naming had been different, would you still be George?" "I...yes?" "Really?" breathed the wolf in awe. "This is all so confusing." Yet he seemed very pleased with George's answers. " I don't know how you all do it. It seems so marvelously complex to simply...be.”

“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.”

“Whether you look at no men at all, or look at every single one - itcomes to the same thing. You can throw yourself at their hearts,because you've gone mad from being always a stranger; from not beingable to understand how you can even bear to hold their hands in yourown any longer than you have to.”

“You are the king no doubt, but in one respect,at least, I am your equal: the right to reply.I claim that privilege too.I am not your slave. I serve Apollo.I don't need Creon to speak for me in public.So,you mock my blindness? Let me tell you this.You with your precious eyes,you're blind to the corruption in your life,to the house you live in, those you live with-who are your parents? Do you know? All unknowingyou are the scourge of your own flesh and blood,the dead below the earth and the living here above,and the double lash of your mother and your father's cursewill whip you from this land one day, their footfalltreading you down in terror, darkness shroudingyour eyes that now can see the light!Soon, soon,you'll scream aloud - what haven won't reverberate?What rock of Cithaeron won't scream back in echo?That day you learn the truth about your marriage,the wedding-march that sang you into your halls,the lusty voyage home to the fatal harbor!And a crowd of other horrors you'd never dreamwill level you with yourself and all your children.There. Now smear us with insults - Creon, myselfand every word I've said. No man will everbe rooted from the earth as brutally as you.”