She looks like the type that might freak out. It's something in the eyes, Frannie. It says if you shoot my sacred cows, I'll shoot yours.

Are you sure self-pity is a luxury you can afford, Jack?

It's a writer's job to carve with language, to hew close to the bone.

Twas something else. I had come to hate her, you see. I had come to wish her dead, and that was what held me back.

I wouldn't have missed a single minute of it, Not for the whole world.

There seems to be no air in the air she breaths.

Humor is almost always anger with its make-up on.