I told them all I just wanted a small hovel and a shovel with which to dig a hole to bury all the things I never cared to see again.

I said sometimes the things that make you who you are are best left forgotten and covered with soil,
regardless, (or rather, in spite of,) what they will one day grow into.
Nobody knew what cloudscape this particular beanstalk would lead to, but they climbed it anyway.

They reminded me about that one time when I mentioned that someday I'd grow wings and fly off into the imploding sun.

I told them all that I don't like being quoted.