“The number one cause of alcoholic relapse in winged insects is being trapped in a pint glass with an ashtray.”

“I had that trapped feeling, like some sort of a poor insect that you've put inside a downturned glass, and it tries to climb up the sides, and it can't, and it can't, and it can't.”

“Here's to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.”

“Her glass wings are gone.”

“To alcohol! The cause of… and solution to… all of life's problems”

““I think I know the real reason.”
“Which is?”
“Alcohol in the dust clouds. Goddamn stuff is everywhere. Any lousy species ever invents the telescope and the spectroscope and starts looking in between the stars, what do they find?” He knocked the glass on the table. “Loads of stuff, but much of it alcohol.” He drank from the glass. “Humanoids are the galaxy’s way of trying to get rid of all that alcohol.””

“I've been watchin birds more than insects recently, and the thing I've found with pigeons is: they've got wings but they walk a lot”

“The real alternative to being Number One is not being Number Two; it is dispensing with rankings altogether”

“Children, being close to the ground, have a special rapport with insects.”

“And you can cage the songbird,
But you can't make her sing.
And you can trap the free bird,
But you'll have to clip her wings.
`Cause she'll soar like a hawk when she flies,
But she'll dive like an eagle when she dies.”