“Ah, Caroline Brine - with your aversion to bohemians and homosexuals, students and foreigners, with your lacerated womb and scullery rat's brain, with your phosphorescent dildos and potted African violets, haunted by the ghost of your aborted baby and contaminated by envy, you freckled, you artificially tanned, you stupefyingly bland and vicious mediocrity - even after all these years, I still detest you.”

“If you let even a little sin into your heart, it's going to contaminate your prayers. Your Christian life will not achieve its full potential.”

“Odd, isn’t it? You know when your birthday is, but not your death day, even though you pass the date year after year, never suspecting that some day…”

“So you play your albums and you smoke your pot
And you meet your girlfriend in the parking lot
Oh, but still you're aching for the things you haven't got,
What went wrong?
And if you can't understand why your world is so dead
And why you've got to keep in style and feed your head
Well, you're twenty one and still you mother makes your bed
And that's too long.”

“You will be at your best forever, Even now you have good moments. Occasional glimpses of your heavenly self. When you change your baby's diaper, forgive your boss's temper, tolerate your spouse's moodiness, you display traces of saintliness.”

“They will envy you for your success, your wealth, for your intelligence, for your looks, for your status - but rarely for your wisdom.”

“Hush your highness, don't you breathe
No, baby, hold me in your arms, I'm shivering
But what's all this for?
If I was the battle, baby, you have won the war”

“We think basically you watch television to turn your brain off, and you work on your computer when you want to turn your brain on.”

“If you don't break your ropes while you're alive, do you think ghosts will do it after?”

“In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness.”