Dead Men Tell No Tales, Mary.

Men Are Simpler Than You Imagine My Sweet Child. But What Goes On In The Twisted, Tortuous Minds Of Women Would Baffle Anyone.

We Can Never Go Back Again, That Much Is Certain. The Past Is Still Close To Us. The Things We Have Tried To Forget And Put Behind Us Would Stir Again, And That Sense Of Fear, Of Furtive Unrest, Struggling At Length To Blind Unreasoning Panic - Now Mercifully Stilled, Thank God - Might In Some Manner Unforeseen Become A Living Companion As It Had Before.

We're Not Meant For Happiness, You And I.

Writers Should Be Read, But Neither Seen Nor Heard.

[referring To The Birds:] Nat Listened To The Tearing Sound Of Splintering Wood, And Wondered How Many Million Years Of Memory Were Stored In Those Little Brains, Behind The Stabbing Beaks, The Piercing Eyes, Now Giving Them This Instinct To Destroy Mankind With All The Deft Precision Of Machines.