I did deranged quite well, when the occasion called for it.

In a perfect world, Joshua‟s vertically gifted murderer would‟ve had himself a monologue before rampaging, during which he loudly and clearly would‟ve announced his full name, occupation, religious preference, preferably with his god‟s country and time period of origin, his goals, dreams, and aspirations, and the location of his lair. But nobody had ever accused post-Shift Atlanta of being perfect.

You know what I like about you? You have no sense. You sit here in my house, you can barely hold a spoon, and you're telling me 'no'. You'd pull on Death's whiskers if you could reach them.

One look at Rebecca and Aunt B would have an instant apoplexy. Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed. “My mother’s approval isn’t necessary.” Aha. “Does she know that?

Just reflecting on the fact that when the Universe punches you in the teeth, it never just lets you fall down. It kicks you in the ribs a couple of times and dumps mud on your head.

Nobody ever died of being shot by a cookie.

If you don't explain it all to me, I might strangle somebody." Of course, Raphael might like that.