“We're all in crashing plane, and everybody is fighting over who gets to sit in first class.”

“You'll figure it out! You get on your plane and I'll get on mine. And we'll see which one crashes!”

“I don't know. Maybe we're all chaos theorists. Lovers of pattern and predictability, we're scared shitless of explosive change. But we're fascinated by it, too. Drawn to it. Travelers tap their brakes to ogle the mutilation and mangled metal on the side of the interstate, and the traffic backs up for miles. Hijacked planes crash into skyscrapers, breached levees drown a city, and CNN and the networks rush to the scene so that we can all sit in front of our TVs and feast on the footage. Stare, stunned, at the pandemonium--the devils let loose from their cages.”

“Time to sit down," Fred told Harry, "Or we're going to get run over by the bride.”

“That smile of hers could seriously crash planes.”

“So when you do board, the first class people, they're sitting there. A lot of them are working as your boarding. They have computers out and calculators. They're looking up at you like, "Hey, we're making money right now! Right now we're making money.”