Byron: The luxuries of this place have made me soft. The metal point's gone from my pen, there's nothing left but the feather.
Gutman: That may be true. But what can you do about it?
Byron: Make a departure.
Gutman: From yourself?
Byron: From my present self to myself as I used to be!
Gutman: That's the furthest departure a man could make!
About author
- Author's profession: Playwright
- Nationality: american
- Born: March 26, 1911
- Died: February 25, 1983
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Look at me," he said, glancing
down at his legs. "A wretched old man in a red monkey suit. A convicted murderer about
to be gassed like an animal. And look at you. A fine young man with a beautiful
education and a bright future. Where in the world did I go wrong? What happened to me?
I've spent my
life hating people, and look what I have to show for it. You, you don't hate anybody. And
look where you're headed. We have the same blood. Why am I here?
John Grisham