I had come home, yes. But home had changed. And I would always be in between-- South, North... East, West... Peace, War... Vietnam, America. It is my fate to be in between heaven and earth.

When we resist our fate, we suffer. When we accept our fate, we are happy. We have time in abundance, an eternity to make mistakes. But we need only once correct our mistake and at last hear the song of enlightenment with which we can break the chain of vengeance forever. In your heart you can hear it now... It's the song your spirit has been singing since the moment of your birth.

If the monks were right, and nothing happens without cause, then the gift of suffering is to bring us closer to God... To teach us to be strong when we are weak; To be brave when we are afraid; To be wise in the midst of confusion; To let go of that which we can no longer hold... Lasting victories are won in the heart, not in this land or that.

Have you also learned that secret from the river, that there is no such thing as time, that the river is everywhere at the same time — at the source, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the mountains and in the ocean — and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past nor the shadow of the future?

There's a storm coming, Watson. It will be cold and bitter, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind nonetheless, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.

In their sadness when I leave and in their happiness when I return, I know they feel towards me as if I'm one of their own. For we are all part of a single family, loved equally by Him, united together in this cherished memory.

You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing. And you're terrified somebody's going to stick you in a cage. Well... you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the West... or in the East... It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

There is so much here that I'll never understand. I have never been a church-going man, and what I've seen on the field of battle has led me to question God's purpose. But there is indeed something spiritual in this place. And though it may forever be obscure to me I cannot but be aware of its power.

Indeed, there are good reasons to believe that mystery is ineradicable from our circumstance because, however much we know, it seems like there will always be brute facts that we cannot account for but which we must rely upon to explain everything else. This may be a problem for epistemology but it is not a problem for human life and for human solidarity. It does not rob our lives of meaning and it is not a barrier to human happiness.

And so the days of the Samurai had ended. Nations, like men, it is sometimes said, have their own destiny. As for the American Captain, no one knows what became of him. Some say that he died of his wounds. Others, that he returned to his own country. But I like to think he may have at last found some small measure of peace that we all seek and few of us ever find.

It was like we (me and my father) was both back in older times... and I was on horseback goin' through the mountains of a night... Goin' through this pass in the mountains... It was cold and there's snow on the ground. He rode past me and kept on goin'. Never said nothing goin' by. He just rode on past... He had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down. When he rode past, I seen he was carrying fire in a horn... the way people used to do... And I could see the horn from the light inside of it-- about the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead... and that he's fixing to make a fire somewhere... Out there in all that dark and all that cold... I knew that whenever I got there, he'd be there... Then I woke up.

We're all leaving...

It's like I'm reading a book. And it's a book I deeply love. But I'm reading it slowly now... So the words are really far apart... And the spaces between the words are almost infinite... I can still feel you and the words of our story. But it's in this endless space between the words that I'm finding myself now. It's a place that's not of the physical world. It's where everything else is that I didn't even know existed. I love you so much. But this is where I am now. This is who I am now. I need you to let me go. As much as I want to, I can't live in your book anymore.

You think I'm crazy... And if I say I'm not crazy? Well, that hardly helps, does it? That's the Kafkaesque genius of it. People tell the world you're crazy, and all your protests to the contrary just confirms what they are saying... Once you're declared insane, anything you do is called part of that insanity.

Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people.

For I wondered that others, subject to death, did live, since he whom I loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I wondered yet more that myself, who was to him a second self, could live, he being dead. Well said one of his friends, "You are half of my soul"; for I felt that my soul and his soul were "one soul in two bodies" and therefore was my life a horror to me because I would not live halved. And therefore, perhaps, I feared to die, lest he whom I had much loved should die wholly.

I've always believed in numbers, in the equations and logics that lead to reason. But after a life time of such pursuit, I ask, 'What truly is logic? Who decides reason?' My quest has taken me through the physical, the metaphysical, to the delusional, and back. And I've made the most important discovery of my career... of my life. It is only in the mysterious equations of love that any logical reasons can be found. I'm only here tonight because of you. You are the reason I am. You are all my reasons...

... Like everything that you and the institution of television touch is destroyed. You're television incarnate, Diana. Indifferent to suffering, insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death — all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're a madness, Diana, virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you. But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure and pain. And love.