The day of battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.

You are a fool to speak of last great battles, Sam, for the last great battle is always the next one.

The universe did not invent justice. Man did. Unfortunately, man must reside in the universe.

Did you ever look back at some moment in your past and have it suddenly grow so vivid that all the intervening years seemed brief, dreamlike, impersonal—the motions of a May afternoon surrendered to routine?

Good-bye and hello, as always.

Nobody steals books but your friends.