“I can't deceive myself that out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that character is fate, nothing is real, past or future, when you are alone in your room with the clock ticking loudly into the false cheerful brilliance of the electric light. And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.”

“If you have no past or no future, which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide. But the cold reasoning mass of gray entrail in my cranium which parrots, ‘I think, therefore I am,’ whispers that there is always the turning, the upgrade, the new slant. And so I wait.”

“Is the future, is the past, all that matters to you? Don't you have just a little bit of room for the present?”

“I have realized that the past and future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is.”

“How can you grow with your present to get ready for your future if you continue to live in your past and all that it contains.”

“The present is what is happening when you strip away all the resentments of your past and all the worries you have about your future.”