Then I strip the pants away from each leg, like peeling a banana. That's it, the perfect metaphor: peeling a banana.

There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?

You are the nest. You are the hatchling. You are the chrysalis. You are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars. You may not understand what I mean. You will.

I do not mean to mock or ridicule your life's work, for in one way at least it mimics my own: We have dedicated our lives to the pursuit of phantoms. The difference is the nature of those phantoms. Mine exist between other men's ears; yours live solely between your own.

There are those who labor in the darkness, that the rest of us might live in the light.

Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected

Just because a man is a homicidal maniac doesn't make him wrong.