“Pick your teeth up and go home!”

“My advice to you, Joe, is to pick up a damn shovel, clean up whatever shit you can and learn how to shut your fucking mouth while you still have all of your teeth and can breathe through your nose.”

“How can you approve of them? Does it not bother you that your son, your only son, the very last male to carry the Garrett name, goes home from work every night to another man? That doesn’t offend your sensibilities?” “Not one bit,” Harrison said. He picked up his newspaper again. “At least he looks forward to going home.”

“Yes, I'm too mad to punish you right now. We'll talk about it when we get home. Go brush your teeth, comb your hair, put on dry clothes, and get the guns. We're going to Wal-Mart.”

“There you go. Use your granddaughter to pick up women. That'll get you points in heaven.”

“You can't imagine how hard it is to come home from hell and be expected to pick up the threads of a life. Apply for jobs, go to a factory, punch in, punch out. Put your lunch in a bag and get on the omnibus every day. Like nothing happened. Nothing.”