the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.

Your Plan and the stuff that comes out of my asshole bear a suspicious resemblance to each other.

Everything's a lot tougher when it's for real. That's when you choke. When it's for real.

I’ve always said to people, "I don’t care what you call me as long as the checks don’t bounce and the family gets fed." But I never saw myself that way. I just saw myself as a novelist.

Adults are the real monsters.

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

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