Cats of all kinds weave in and out of the text; Burroughs has clearly taken to them in a big way in his old age and seems torn between a fear they will betray him into sentimentality and a resigned acceptance that a man can't be ironic all the time.

One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.

I think I want to be in love with you but I don't know how.

A day without an argument is like an egg without salt.

Those are the voices of my brothers, darling; I love the company of wolves.

Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death.

Out of the frying pan into the fire! What is marriage but prostitution to one man instead of many? No different!