"'Somehow in the diesel hiss and whine of the bus I look east toward the glow of the rising sun. I am murmuring prayers, because I am frightened as if I had somehow allowed myself, a child of God, to be sent back to Egypt. It was as if my yearning had got me out of an imagined bondage for the real one of the unknown. Probably everyone feels this on their first true flight from whatever nest, but it is no less real for being so universally shared! We all have mothers and fathers, and what sweet anguish, sometimes terror, there is in those names. If you give it much thought, the skeleton of life is stupendously ordinary. So much of the emotional content of our lives seems to occur before we are nineteen or twenty, doesn't it? After that, especially by our age, we seems like stone walls, mortared together by scar tissues. The whole point is not to be. From all my reading done in construction camps throughout the world, the main point of challenge is to stay as conscious as possible, absurd as that seems.'"

Sundog, Jim Harrison