“I showed the grown ups my masterpiece, and I asked them if my drawing scared them. They answered:"why be scared of a hat?" My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant.”

“My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant.”

“Oh, I'm being eatenBy a boa constrictor,A boa constrictor,A boa constrictor,I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,And I don't like it--one bit.Well, what do you know?It's nibblin' my toe.Oh, gee,It's up to my knee.Oh my,It's up to my thigh.Oh, fiddle,It's up to my middle.Oh, heck,It's up to my neck.Oh, dread,It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .”

“I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.”

“No longer do I sing, dance or draw pictures; but God has granted me the gift to do them all in my stories.”

“What the hell is that?" I laughed."It's my fox hat.""Your fox hat?""Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat.""Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked."Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.”