“His body rigid with terror as he waited for the savages to something horrible to him—bash his head with clubs, or stab him with spears, or…
…or tap him on the shoulder.”

“If you annoy the Hog-nosed Snake enough, he will roll over on his back and play dead. If you turn him right-side up, he will roll over to prove that he is dead. [Footnote:] While he is playing dead, you can go straight up to him and step on his head or smash him with a big club.”

“Like him in Æsop, he whipped his horses withal, and put his shoulder to the wheel.”

“Moving fluidly and jabbing, slipping punches and countering rather than swarming over DeJesus, he stalked him, relentlessly wearing him down and coolly destroying him with savage punches to the body. For 11 rounds Duran bested the classic boxer at his own game, robbing him of his speed and his will to fight, and only then did he permit himself the luxury of putting DeJesus away.”

“The fate of the suicide is horrible in general. He has cut himself off from his body by using mechanical means that affect the body, but cannot touch the real man. He then is projected into the astral world, for he has to live somewhere. There the remorseless law, which acts really for his good, compels him to wait until he can properly die. Naturally he must wait, half dead, the months or years which, in the order of nature, would have rolled over him before body and soul and spirit could rightly separate. He becomes a shade….”

“Would you trust him with your life, Halt?" Gilan interrupted, and Halt looked up at him.
"Yes," he said quietly. Gilan patted his shoulder once more.
"Then trust him with his own," he said simply.”

“I hate this guy,” Ari muttered, keeping his head down
“There’s a club,” I told him. “The Haters of ter Borcht Club. Have you gotten your badge yet?”

“His hand came nearer, his eyes danced round the room, which began to fill with a golden haze. He beckoned, and Clesant moved into his arms. Clesand had often been proud of his disease but never, never of his body, it had never occurred to him that he could provoke desire. This sudden revelation shattered him, he fell from his pedestal, but not alone, there was someone to cling to, broad shoulders, a sunburnt throat, lips that parted as they touched him to murmur – ‘And to hell with Woolacott’.”

“Women were created from the rib of man to be beside him, not from his head to top him, nor from his feet to be trampled by him, but from under his arm to be protected by him, near to his heart to be loved by him.”

“He wanted to assume his entire condition, to carry the world on his shoulders and to become, in defiance of all, what all have made of him.”