A few excerpts :
"And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends up in spite of our desperate determination never to forget."
"And ignorance breeds ignorance; an unawakened body and mind sleep through events which awareness catalogues automatically."
"The land was so beautiful, so pure, so indifferent to the fates of the creatures who presumed to rule it. They might put their hands to it, but in the long run it ruled them. Until they could direct the weather and summon up the rain, it had the upper hand."
"Perhaps no human being is equipped to judge which is worse: inchoate longing with its attendant restlessness and irritability, or specific desire with its willful drive to achieve the desire."
"Every man has sadness in him, and it is no sin to remember a grief."
"We all have contempt for whatever there's too many of. Out here it's sheep, but in the city it's people."
"Love! What's love? Nothing but figment of women's imagination, thaf's all."
"For only those who have slipped and fallen know the vicissitudes of the way."
"Each of us has something within us which won't be denied, even if it makes us scream aloud to die. We are what we are, that's all. Like the old Celtic legend of the bird with the thorn in its breast, singing its heart out and dying. Because it has to, it's driven to. We can know what we do wrong even before we do it, but self-knowledge can't affect or change the outcome, can it? Everyone singing his own little song, convinced it's the most wonderful song the world has ever heard. Don't you see? We create our own thorns, and never stop to count the cost. All we can do is suffer the pain, and tell ourselves it was well worth it."
"No man sees himself in a mirror as he really is, nor any woman."
"Who on earth ever said people most moved don't weep? They don't know anything about it."
"Perhaps that's what Hell is, a long term in earth-bound bondage. Perhaps we suffer our hells in living..."
"It must be the demon of destructiveness in us, the impulse to poke the guts out of a fire. It only hastens the end. But what a beauriful end, isn't it?"