There is this strange fog of being a young man that I would refer to as soft time. Time does not go forward there. It's a series of doors that kind of wind back into one another, like a series of doors in the upper floor of a house. You revisit the same lessons over and over again, or you choose to
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.”
“I have come to know Bugs so well that I no longer have to think about what he is doing in any situation.”