Work and pray, live on hay, youll get pie in the sky when you die.

... people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

You know someone for a while and then one day a hole opens underneath them, and they fall out of your world.

Longhaired preachers come out every night, Tryin' to tell us what's wrong and what's right. But when asked about something to eat, They will tell you in voices so sweet. You will eat (You will eat!) By and by, (By and by!) In that glorious land in the sky. (Way up high!) Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. (That's a lie!)

I will die like a true-blue rebel. Don't waste any time in mourning - organize.

It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.

I'll take the shooting. I'm used to that. I've been shot a few times in the past, and I guess I can stand it, again.