“You can't sit next to me doing nothing while I'm trying desperately to save myself by doing something.”

“There is a rage inside me that I mitigate with my constant drawing.”

“I try to convince myself that it's the alcohol talking. But alcohol can't talk. It just sits there. It can't even get itself out of the bottle.”

“The least you could do is offer a little conversation.” Beckett dodged a pothole, keeping his eyes on the road.“You want me to talk?”“It would be the polite thing to do.”“Okay. Let’s talk.”“Any topic will be fine.”“I’m going to sit here and silently think of one. Might take a while.”

“We kunnen straks alles in Goud veranderen: mijn broer, de katten, de tuin, de rivier, ons leven, onze dromen.”

“You sit in your chair and ignore it, Moldenke. You remain. Evolution continues, Moldenke remains. You remind me of pi, Moldenke -- ever constant. Do something! Sitting there, gassing the paper weeks away, caring not.”

“Its funny how certain objects convey a message -- my washer and dryer, for example. They can't speak, of course, but whenever I pass them they remind me that I'm doing fairly well. "No more laundromat for you," they hum. My stove, a downer, tells me every day that I can't cook, and before I can defend myself my scale jumps in, shouting from the bathroom, "Well, he must be doing something. My numbers are off the charts." The skeleton has a much more limited vocabulary and says only one thing: "You are going to die.”