It was in part, a longing - common enough among the inventors of heroes - to be someone else; to be more than the result of two hundred regimens and scenarios and self-improvement campaigns that always ran afoul of his personal inability to locate an actual self to be improved.
. . .
Every universe, our own included, begins in conversation.
. . .
Freedom was a debt that could be repaid only by purchasing the freedom of others
. . .
All men, no matter what their estate, were in possession of shining immortal souls.
. . .
He was astonished at the course that life could take, at the way that had seemed once to concern him so much - indeed to revolve around him - could turn out to have nothing to do with him at all.
. . .
So finely attuned to the danger of what they might lose that they could not permit themselves to notice what they had.
. . .
The only true sequel is the one that flickers briefly into being in your mind, O my friend by the fireside, in the moments after you read the last paragraph and lay the book down.
