But he won’t let the pain blot out the humor no more’n he’ll let the humor blot out the pain.

The frontiers we broke into in the '60s are still largely unexplored.

I been silent so long now it’s gonna roar out of me like floodwaters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It’s still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it’s the truth even if it didn’t happen.

A sound of cornered-animal fear and hate and surrender and defiance . . . like the last sound the treed and shot and falling animal makes as the dogs get him, when he finally doesn't care about anything but himself and his dying.

To hell with facts! We need stories.

He's the sort of guy that gets a laugh out of people.

What can you pay for the way a man lives? What can you pay for what a man is?