My god, there's absolutely nothing tenth-rate about you, and yet you're up to your neck at this minute in tenth-rate thinking.

I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.

It's really too bad that so much crumby stuff is a lot of fun sometimes.

If Death stepped miraculously through the glass and came in after you, in all probability you just got up and went along with him, ferociously but quietly.

He was one of those guys that think they're being a pansy if they don't break around forty of your fingers when they shake hands with you. God I hate that stuff.

The existence of God, the why of life, was all that really only a question of glands?

It isn't very serious, I have this tiny little tumor on the brain.