“I froze, shocked. (And don't try to claim that you did anything different the first time a government bureaucrat pulled a gun on you.)”

“Oh, I thought you were trying to build a canal. If it's jobs you want, then you should give these workers spoons, not shovels. [Reply to the government bureaucrat of one Asian country who told him that, reason why there were workers with shovels instead of modern tractors and earth movers at a worksite of a new canal, was that: "You don't understand. This is a jobs program."]”

“Nick froze instantly. "You don't mock my mother. You don't speak of her in anything but the most reverent of tones. I don't care if you are Death, I will open a can of Cajun whup-ass all over you, boy.”

“Is not literature meant to speak of our being a thousand different kinds of things, at times creating even this diversity? If literature gives up this purpose, this duty, it renounces all claim to legitimacy. I am Hungarian. I I am Slovene. I am Serbian. You do not need literature for sentences like that. A bureaucrat will do, and a rubber stamp. A border guard. An Army.”

“Yeah, good to see you too.Her hand stays on the gun.“Did I say it was good to see you, Joe?“No, but I always try to read between the lines. Figured you going for your gun was how you express affection these days.”

“When guns are outlawed, only the Government will have guns. The Government - and a few outlaws. If that happens, you can count me among the outlaws.”