“Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds? Or do we want to eat without fear, tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria's mystery meat, the sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.”

“Please, comrade! I just want to chop him up for the stew!''And that's another thing! I'm tired of stew! I want to put him in a crust and bake a light fluffy quiche!''QUICHE?! What kind of food is THAT for a monster to eat?!”

“I want to eat lunch. You want to eat lunch. We're people in the world. We need to eat and talk.”

“I want to read, write, and nothing else. I do not want to get married, I do not want to go to church, I do not want to file taxes; I do not want to eat. But Grandma disagrees, and Grandma always wins.”

“I don't know the meaning of life. I don't know why we are here. I think life is full of anxieties and fears and tears. It has a lot of grief in it, and it can be very grim. And I do not want to be the one who tries to tell somebody else what life is all about. To me it's a complete mystery.”

“What do I want? I want lots of things, just like everybody else. Problem is, we can’t really have what we want, can we?”