Wealth is power, and power is the only thing about which contemporary culture cares.

We're out of cocktail olives, it's a tragedy of historic proportions, but we're coping because we're Americans.

Tommy told Sal about the strange white-cloth figure with black stitches that he had found on the front porch. "Sounds like Pillsbury Doughboy gone punk," Sal said.

Shakespeare again. Once you let him into your head, he takes up tenancy and will not leave.

In a crunch a man's reputation never counts for as much as it ought to.

But once an idea for a novel seizes a writer...well, it’s like an inner fire that at first warms you and makes you feel good but then begins to eat you alive, burn you up from within. You can’t just walk away from the fire; it keeps burning. The only way to put it out is to write the book.

Don't tell me what's necessary, you presumptupus pup. What's necessary is whatever I wish to do, regardless of how unnecessary it might be.