“I pretend I’ve got lots of confidence and I’m a big jock and like that but deep inside I’m a frightened, insecure, can’t-make-it failure.”

“Whenever I can’t sleep, I like to lie in the darkness and pretend I’ve been assassinated. I’ve found this is the best way to get comfortable. I imagine I’m in the coffin at my funeral, and people from my past are walking by my corpse and making comments about my demise.”

“I know the answer now, but I’m so frightened I’ve forgotten the question.”

“I’m not a romantic, I’m a half-wit. Only stupid people would think I’m smart. I’m not something anyone should know. I’m a lunatic wandering around for scraps, I’m like every single miserable moron I’ve scorned and pretended I didn’t recognize. I’m all of them, every last ugly thing in a bad last-minute costume. I’m not different, not at all, not different from any other speck of a thing. I’m a blemished blemish, a ruined ruin, a stained wreck so failed I can’t see what I used to be.”

“I’ve got this perception of Beethoven where he’s just, like, really pissed all the time. Yeah, ol’ Ludwig, he had a lot to pound on the piano bitterly about. I’m Germannnn! I’m deaffff! I’m bliiiind! My name is Ludwigggg! Was he blind? I’m pretty sure. Or, wait, maybe that was Helen Keller. Was he even German? Was she German? Is Ludwig a name? I’m starting to worry I’m just making shit up.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you? It may look like we’ve got a whole lot of supplies here, but I’ve got five hungry boys to feed, plus I give whatever I can to Adam and the Black Ridge lot. You need to give me a real good reason, otherwise the answer is going to be no.” Sam took a deep breath. “I’m going to kill the Antichrist.” Big Tom sat completely still for a moment. Then he smiled. “Yep. That’ll do it.”