“Louisiana is a fresh-air mental asylum.”
“Louisiana in September was like an obscene phone call from nature. The air - moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh - felt as if it were being exhaled into one's face. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy breathing.”
“I was in a mental asylum? When the fuck did that happen?”
“I've invaded the walls of the asylums with my ink pen. The way they look at mental illness won't be the same again”
“I know that you don't believe it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it down in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!”
“Give me golf clubs, fresh air and a beautiful partner, and you can keep the clubs and the fresh air.”