“Hey, I stopped smoking cigarettes. Isn't that something? I'm on to cigars now. I'm on to a five-year plan. I eliminated cigarettes, then I go to cigars, then I go to pipes, then I go to chewing tobacco, then I'm on to that nicotine gum”

“Yeah,' I said and started smoking another cigarette. Unless I inform you otherwise, I'm always smoking another cigarette.”

“I feel like having a cigar, too, right this second. I'm full of queer yens. Can it be that I"m pregnant? Intellectually, maybe. Stop me if I start eating chalk. I'll be righ tback. You know, I dont' smoke half a dozen cigars a year. But this one tastes ambrosial.”

“Now that it's time to leave, I'm not sure I wan to go.”

“But now I said, 'Mr Anxiety Attack, you haven't beaten me in the past and you're probably not going to beat me in the future. You can come. I'm not going to fight you anymore. I'm going to work out how I'm going to live wit you. You can come, because I know you're going to leave.”

“I'm an economical soul, and if I'm going to be hanged I want a good stake for my neck.”

“Unhappily, things get clearer as we go along. I perceive that I have no body. What's less, I've been speaking of myself without delight or alternative as self-consciousness pure and sour; I declare now that even that isn't true. I'm not aware of myself at all, as far as I know. I don't think. . . I know what I'm talking about.”