That's the day's business. Thinking. Thinking and isolation, because it doesn't matter if you pass the time of day with someone or not; in the end, you're alone. He seemed to have put in as many miles in his brain as he had with his feet. The thoughts kept coming and there was no way to deny them.

You're dead, George. You just don't have the sense to lie down.

We live in a society now where the sexual taboo for children has really passed by the wayside. Any nineyear-old can go into a 7-11 and check out the Playmate of the Month, but you don't want your kids to know about death. You don't want your kids to know about disfigurement. You don't want 'em to know about creepy things because it might warp their little minds.

It's a little place on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no memory.

If I can get it down on paper without puking all over the word processor, then as far as I'm concerned, it's fit to see the light of day.

The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there... and still on your feet.

Love among the ruins... I'll tell you something, my friend: Weird love's better than no love at all.