The Knife Of Never Letting Go

New World and the town where I'm from (avoiding saying the name, avoiding thinking the name) seem to be nothing but lies. But that's different. I said it before, men lie all the time, to theirselves, to other men, to the world at large, but who can tell when the lie's a strand in all the other lies and truths floating round outta yer head? Everyone knows yer lying but everyone else is lying, too, so how can it matter? What does it change? It's just part of the river of a man, part of his Noise, and sometimes you can pick it out, sometimes you can't.

Nobody does nothing for you. If you don't change it, it don't get changed.

Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world keeps changing, whether I want it to or not.

There's no reason for her to, no reason for me to ask her, but when I say to her, "Come on," a second time more urgently and gesture with my hand, she follows me, follows Manchee, and that's how it is, that's what we do, who knows if it's right, but that's what we do.

Life equals running and when we stop running maybe that’s how we’ll know life is finally finished.

I’m still sweating and I’m still coughing enough to win a contest

“Wait just a minute. What’s that beside you? That empty space of nothing.”

That’s the thing I’m learning about being thrown out on yer own. Nobody does nothing for you. If you don’t change it, it don’t get changed.

This makes no sense, no sense at all, and everything feels like it’s starting to slip, like the world is a table tilted on its side and everything on it is tipping over.

cuz drunk Noise is like a drunk man: blurry and boring and dangerous.