We try to do right, and we ... we ... they gang up on us, fear and pain and revenge and ... and then we find we’ve done wrong.

This is my mind's garden, I tend it; I order it. I have nothing to fear.

Don’t be afraid. We’re walking away from death, not toward it. Death is going back.

Why live in fear that he might find me disgusting someday, when I could make it happen right now?