The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.
It just goes to show you: you can put nine insane miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he'll haunt you.
The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.
I want people talking about me when I'm gone.
You carry your past with you even if you don't remember any of it.
The old echoes are long in dying.
I've never been very good at leaving things behind. I tried, but I have always left fragments of myself there too, like seeds awaiting their chance to grow.
Spent time-like a spent bullet-tells us much about its "processor." for we see not only the residual slug, but indicators of how spent time is grooved by a man's soul, a reliable indicator of what a man is like.
