“Lock yourself in here and if you hearanything. Shoot. I don’t care if you think God himself is about to waltz through that door, shoot him toSwiss cheese--he’ll survive.”

“I don’t think that God cares about what you think. It’s the actions that count. Actually He doesn’t care what you do as long as you keep Him in mind.”

“Do you still have the revolver you were going to shoot me with?” asked the old man on the telephone.“Yes, I have it here.”“How much ammunition?”“No idea. How do I find out?”He explained. In the moonlight, she felt the bulges of the cartridges in the cylinder. “Six,” she said.“And you don’t know how to use it?”“No.”“But you are American.”“Ha-ha.”“If you do as I say, and go about it cleverly, I hope you won’t need it. Unless Cesare Carnevare crosses your path, in which case please be kind enough to shoot him.”“How about the concordat?”He laughed. “Shoot him when no one’s looking.”

“Shoot the moon," Aurora says dreamily. "Would it bleed, do you think? I think it would. I think it would bleed...shooting stars.”

“It's a good thing god doesn't let you look a year or two into the future, or you might be sorely tempted to shoot yourself.”

“I don't know about you, but I say we shoot the fuckers, bury the bodies and deny they were ever here." - Mordecai”