A person's memory is everything, really. Memory is identity. It's you.

Do you know how cruel your God can be, David. How fantastically cruel?...Sometimes he makes us live.

Where you think I’m goan?’ ‘Well,’ Eddie said, ‘what was behind Door Number One wasn’t so hot, and what was behind Door Number Two was even worse, so now, instead of quitting like sane people, we’re going to go right on ahead and check out Door Number Three. The way things have been going, I think it’s likely to be something like Godzilla or Ghidra the Three-Headed Monster, but I’m an optimist. I’m still hoping for the stainless steel cookware.

Don't let the door hitcha where the good Lord splitcha.

There were times . . . when it occurred to me that I was repeating my mother's life. Usually this thought struck me as funny. But if I happened to be tired, or if there were extra bills to pay and no money to pay them with, it seemed awful. I'd think 'This isn't the way our lives are supposed to be going.' Then I'd think 'Half the world has the same idea.

You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for... and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.

It is the tale, not he who tells it.