We spend our lives running our fingers down the lists in directories, looking for our real names, our permanent addresses. No man is an island?
Perhaps that was true a long time ago, before the Ice Age. The glaciers have melted away, and now we're all islands -- parts of a world made of islands only...
There is war in this forest. Not a war that has been fought, or one that will be, but any war. And the enemies who struggle here do not exist, unless we call them into being. This forest, then, and all that happens now is outside history. Only the unchanging shapes of fear -- and doubt -- and death -- are from our world. These soldiers that you see keep our language and our time, but have no other country but the mind.
It wasn't my fault! The magician did it. Honest! Prospero the Magician. First we're a bird, and then we're an island. Before I was a general, and now I'm a fish! Hoorah for the magician! (laughs insanely, then stops) The river ... it's blood, Mac! Cold ... cold ... I'm going for a swim. Come on in, Mac! Listen to them ... (starts to laugh) it's blood! (laughs insanely again, then runs off)