“And you, you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you.”

“People entering the bars on First Avenue gave up their bodies. Then only the demons inhabiting us could be seen. Souls who had wronged each other were brought together here. The rapist met his victim, the jilted child discovered its mother. But nothing could be healed, the mirror was a knife dividing everything from itself, tears of false fellowship dripped on the bar. And what are you going to do to me now? With what, exactly, would you expect to frighten me?”

“Are you hearing unusual sounds or voices?” the doctor asked. “Help us, oh God, it hurts,” the boxes of cotton screamed. “Not exactly,” I said.”

“A child, I'm miserable admitting it, a child stands like a priest under his father's sky. Why do you fate me to fail you?”

“Does everything you touch turn to shit? Does this happen to you every time?""No wonder they call me Fuckhead."It's a name that's going to stick.”

“How could I do it, how could a person go that low? And I understand your question, to which I reply, Are you kidding? That's nothing. I'd been much lower than that. And I expected to see myself do worse.”

“I'll never forget you. Your husband will beat you with an extension cord and the bus will pull away leaving you standing there in tears, but you were my mother.”