Boy, I have known War all my life. Conquest, I am a conquistador. Famine? Well...lean times are for the peasants, aren't they? And do I look like a man whose wants have long surpassed his needs? All I fear...is one thing. And it's the same thing you do. Death.

I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here , I can pretend … I can pretend that things last . I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don't last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend.

You went to all the trouble of conceiving me, and giving birth to me, and raising me and clothing me and all … and you make me cry and things hurt so much and disappointments crush my heart every day and I can't do half the things I want to and sometimes I just want to scream – and what I've got to look forward to is my body breaking and something flipping off the switch in my head – I go through all this, and then there's death? What is the motherf*cking deal here? I wasn't having this. This was not fair.

I burned my fire, until there was nothing left. All that's left is pure white ash.

You were always there, by my side,
whether we sat or played.
Our friendship was a joyful ride,
I wish you could have stayed.

It didn't take long for Reach to fall: our enemy was ruthless. Efficient. But they weren't nearly fast enough. For you had already passed the torch. And because of you, we found Halo, unlocked its secrets, shattered our enemy's resolve. Our victory — your victory — was so close, I wish you could have lived to see it. But you belong to Reach. Your body, your armor — all burned and turned to glass. Everything… except your courage. That, you gave to us. And with it, we can rebuild.

There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says, "But doctor...I am Pagliacci.

If our lives are but a spark in the eye of gods, then let us blind them at least once

Bud knew a guy like that who'd somehow gotten infected with a meme that ran advertisements for roach motels, in Hindi, superimposed on the bottom right-hand corner of his visual field, twenty-four hours a day, until the guy whacked himself.