“Love is a dunghill, and I'm the cock that gets on it to crow.”

“I'm not going to get into the ring with Tolstoy.”

“Love is just another dirty lie. Love is ergoapiol pills to make me come around because you were afraid to have a baby. Love is quinine and quinine and quinine until I'm deaf with it. Love is that dirty aborting horror that you took me to. Love is my insides all messed up. It's half catheters and half whirling douches. I know about love. Love always hangs up behind the bathroom door. It smells like lysol. To hell with love. Love is making me happy and then going off to sleep with your mouth open while I lie awake all night afraid to say my prayers even because I know I have no right to anymore. Love is all the dirty little tricks you taught me that you probably got out of some book. All right. I'm through with you and I'm through with love.”

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?”

“A girl came in the cafe and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair black as a crow's wing and cut sharply and diagonally across her cheek.”

“I'm getting as bored with dying as with everything else, he thought.'It's a bore,' he said out loud.'What is, my dear?''Anything you do too bloody long.”

“I've never loved any one else the way I love you. I'm full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry.''Stop it. Harry, why do you have to turn into a devil now?''I don't like to leave anything,' the man said. 'I don't like to leave things behind.”