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?
Dreams mean everything. They’re the stories we tell ourselves of what could be, who we could become.
An old friend once told me something that gave me great comfort. Something he had read. He said that Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin never died. They simply became music.
We’ve managed to slip evolution’s leash now, haven’t we? We can cure any disease, keep even the weakest of us alive, and one fine day perhaps we shall even resurrect the dead, call forth Lazarus from his cave. Do you know what that means? It means that we’re done, that this is as good as we’re going to get.
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.