We would bring the herd down off the mountain in the fall. Sometimes we would lose one along the way, and I’d worry over it. My father… My father would tell me that the steer would find its own way home. And, often as not, they did. Never occurred to me that we were bring them back for the slaughter.
Choices, Lawrence. You know, you tell yourself you’ve been at the mercy of mine because it spares you consideration of your own. Because if you did consider your choices, you’d be confronted with a truth you could not comprehend, that no choice you ever made was your own. You have always been a prisoner. What if I told you I’m here to set you free?