“Who gives a shit what everyone thinks?” he said. I see now that this has long been some sort of mantra for him. I've never been that free. I want to be, and sometimes I pretend to be, but I’m not. I’m forever chained to giving a shit about what someone thinks.”

“Truthfully, if you want to remember me, do it now. I won’t give a shit when I’m dead.”

“What makes you think that I give a shit about your self-confidence?”

“I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it.”

“I know what I want, Reed, and if you can’t give it to me…you’re shit out of luck. After what I’ve been through, I don’t care what you think you can do to me.”

“It’s like an inner struggle for me, between saying I don’t give a shit and trying to make it work. You want to do the right thing, but I’m sick of people thinking I’m difficult.”