Apart from the faint odor of ink that pervaded the scene, it might have been real.

I loved him, officer. More than any woman ever loved an egg.

Personally I have a great deal of fun doing it, which is an inspiration in itself really. It really allows me to daydream, as in "schooldream" which is daydreaming with ink and get paid for it which is something I don't say to schools when I go in and talk to them.

Dead. Never been that before. Not even once.

I got Oedipus off the incest charge--technicality, of course--he didn't know it was his mother at the time.

Pretend to be mad and talk a lot. Then — and this is the important bit — do nothing at all until you absolutely have to and then make sure everyone dies.

I'll tell you what love is" I said, "It is blind devotion, unquestioning self humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your heart and soul to the smiter.