I always really curious to see how people interpret things. I know my version, and I'm kind of bored with my version so I want to see their version.

Idiot people like Angel Delaporte who look for a supernatural reason for ordinary events, those people drive Misty nuts.

Don't rush or force the ending. All you have to know is the next scene, or the next few scenes.

Give me lust, baby. Flash. Give me malice. Flash. Give me detached existentialist ennui. Flash. Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism. Flash.

This wasn't any mere song and dance; here was a bold, blaring declaration howling itself into the empty face of death.

In good old Colonial Dunsboro, masochism is a valuable job skill. It is in most jobs.

Scratch any fortune and you'll find blood only a generation or two back...child labor in mines or mills...Slavery. Drugs. Stock swindles. Wasting nature with clear-cuts, pollution, harvesting to extinction. Monopolies. Disease. War. Every fortune comes out of something unpleasant.