“Dean: God exists without qualms. As we roll along this way, I am positive beyond doubt that everything will be taken care of for us - that even you, as you drive, fearful of the wheel - the thing will go along of itself and you won't go off the road and I can sleep.”

“I am not going to do anything with you: not if you mean by that 'do something to you' without your leave. We might do some things together. I don't know about sides. I go my own way; but your way may go along with mine for a while.”

“If I were someone else, I’d go along with you all. But since I’m what I am, lay off! Go to hell without me, Or let me go there by myself! Why do we have to go together?”

“I am going to fuck you seven ways til Sunday and you're going to go along for the ride.”

“I am going to fuck you seven ways til Sunday and you're going to go along for the ride.”

“Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you—just a tad—off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much—too tiring—and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.”