“R wrote Delahaye about all that had happened to him and about what he, R, wanted:My friend,You’re eating white flour and mud in your pigsty. I don’t miss Charleville. I don’t miss being a bored pig where the sun dries up all brains but sloth. Your brains or feelings’re being dried up: dead pig Delahaye.Emotions are the movers of this world.Me: I’m thirsty. What I’m thirsty for—whom I’m thirsty for—I can’t get so I drink poisons. I’ve got to free myself. From what? Pain? Oh—for more poisons. Maybe more poisons’ll come and I’ll go so far, I’ll emerge. Something is trying to emerge from this mess.I don’t know how.”

“I’ll drink out of your bra, because I’m thirsty for your love.”

“There are some things about myself I can’t explain to anyone. There are some things I don’t understand at all. I can’t tell what I think about things or what I’m after. I don’t know what my strengths are or what I’m supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I’m not such a wonderful human being.”

“I don’t have much of a life now, and from what I’m told I’ll have even less where I’m going. If there’s something wonderful on this ship, I want to know what it is. This is my only chance.”-Peter”

“I’m hungry but I won’t order 18 tubs of ketchup and a spoon. No, I’ll order it because I’m thirsty, and I’ll ask for a straw.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for any of this, but I’m here now. I get that it’s dangerous. I get that I’m fat. I get that I’m about as far from prepared for this insanity as you can get. But I’ll tell you something about me: I don’t quit. So enough with the let’s-scare-the-fat-girl routine, okay?”