But your book is wrong, Mrs. Strunk, says George, when it tells you that Jim is the substitute I found for a real son, a real kid brother, a real husband, a real wife. Jim wasn't a substitute for anything. And there is no substitute for Jim, if you'll forgive my saying so, anywhere.

She is sighing deeply now with sympathy and delight - the delight of an addict when someone else admits he's hooked, too.

I often feel that worse than the most fiendish Nazis were those Germans who went along with the persecution of the Jews not because they really disliked them but because it was the thing.

As they embrace, she kisses him full on the mouth. And suddenly sticks her tongue right in. She has done this before, often. It’s one of those drunken long shots which just might, at least theoretically, once in ten thousand tries, throw a relationship right out of its orbit and send it whizzing off on another. Do women ever stop trying? No. But, because they never stop, they learn to be good losers.

Horror is always aware of its cause; terror never is. That is precisely what makes terror terrifying.

If it’s going to be a world with no time for sentiment, it’s not a world that I want to live in.

You see, Kenny, there are some things you don't even know you know, until you're asked.