Twenty percent? What am I, your waiter? I got you five vampires, not a BLT.

Try not to sing too many sad songs for yourself. The universe already hates you. Self-pity isn't going to help.

The ashes of your existence will fertilize the soil for the universe to follow.

The place looks like where David Lynch would meet Beaver Cleaver's mom for secret afternoons of bondage and milkshakes.

I can deal with fighting in the arena in Hell, but laundry and dishes put the fear of God in me.

Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.

Don't talk. Kill it." That might be the sweetest thing a woman's ever said to me on a first date.