A man who discovers his pants are on fire tends to have very little time to worry about somebody else's box of matches

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

And once again I found myself wondering, as I drifted off to stunned and unbelieving sleep:How do these terrible things always happen to me?

And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.

Nothing in life is fair. Fair is a dirty word and I'll thank you not to use that language around me.

As I've said, freedom is really an illusion. Anytime we think we have a real choice, it just means we haven't seen the shotgun aimed at our navel.