“Above the desk there was this framed picture of Jesus. He was reaching his hand out and making this face like he was about to get shot.”

“...But that is not my scene and I'm outta here."His hand shot out and grabbed me above the elbow. "Indeed, but you'll accompany me, I think." The stone face cracked and he almost smiled. "I insist on the pleasure of your company. We have much to talk about." "My ass!”

“He sounds like Jesus. Except rich and sexy.” “Watch it, Meg. In this town joking about Jesus could get you shot. You’ve never seen so many of the faithful who’re armed.”

“He reached out and put his hand on top of mine. My heart skipped a beat - he liked me, too!"You're worried about what's killing the paranormals aren't you?"Crap. He didn't like me.”

“He learned to live with the truth. Not to accept it, but to live with it. It was like living with an elephant. His room was tiny, and every morning he had to squeeze around the truth just to get to the bathroom. To reach the armoire to get a pair of underpants he had to crawl under the truth, praying it wouldn't choose that moment to sit on his face. At night, when he closed his eyes, he felt it looming above him.”

“After Game Six of the Finals, as Paxson's shot went through the net, Michael Jordan raced to the basket to get the ball. He held it up high above his head, and his teammates thought he was going to say something about a prospective trip to Disneyland. Instead, he yelled out, "Thunder Dan Majerle-my fucking ass!”