“Why would she make calls out the blue?
Now I'm awake, sleepless in you.”

“England! awake! awake! awake!
Jerusalem thy sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death
And close her from thy ancient walls?”

“And I guess that's why they call it the blues.
Time on my hands could be time spent with you,
Laughing like children, living like lovers,
Rolling like thunder under the covers.
And I guess that's why they call it the blues.”

“Now you get to watch her leave out the window, Guess that's why they call it 'window pane.”

“If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make who would you call and what would you say?
And why are you waiting?”

“You call me Mr. Pitiful;
Baby that's my name now, oh.
They call me Mr. Pitiful;
That's how I got my fame.
But people just don`t understand, now
What makes a man feel so blue, now
Ooh, they call me Mr. Pitiful;
Cause I lost someone just like you, now.”

“There’s no urgency, a third voice urged, pleading compromise. No duty calls. Hold onto the illusion a little longer.
So she tried to go on pretending. After all, can’t believing sometimes make dreams come true?
No, it can’t. Besides, you're awake now.”

“Wouldn't it be strange, she thought, to have a blue sky? But she liked the way it looked. It would be beautiful - a blue sky.”

“A convention has to be something that more than one person is moved to take hold of. It's a convention to call your sweetheart "dumplin" or "honeybun." It would also be a convention to call her "gulag," if she would stand for it, which she won't, and why would you want to be around someone who would?”

“She was not quite what you would call refined.
She was not quite what you would call unrefined.
She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.”