“I'm suprised he doesn't send Christmas cards," Antonio said. "I can see them now. Tasteful, embossed veilum cards, the best he can steal. Little notes in perfect penmanship,"Happy holidays. Hope everyone is well. I sliced up Ethan Ritter in Miami and scattered his remains in the Atlantic. Best wishes for the new year. Karl.”

“She mailed me a Merry Christmas-I'm-Breaking-Up-with-You card. I'll read it to you," he said. He cleared his throat. "Dear Marcus. Merry Christmas. I'm breaking up with you. Mia.”

“I'm going to put them in the slam, my friend, and if I hear they got their puckery little assholes cored down there in Thomaston, I'm gonna send them cards saying I hope whoever did it had AIDS.”

“I loved this woman the way you love ... well, nothing," he said, a note of suprise in his voice. "You can’t compare that kind of love to anything, can you? It’s its own unique gift.”

“Mi stupisco che non ci abbia ancora mandato gli auguri di Natale", ha commentato Antonio. "Me li immagino, di buon gusto, stampati in rilievo su pergamena, le migliori cartoline che riesce a rubare. Un breve messaggio in perfetta calligrafia: 'Buone vacanze, spero che stiate tutti bene. Ho fatto a fettine Ethan Ritter a Miami e ho gettato i resti nell’Atlantico. Vi faccio i miei migliori auguri per l’anno nuovo. Karl'.”

“In fact, the thing Lorraine and I liked best about the Pigman was that he didn't go around saying we were cards or jazzy or cool or hip. He said we were delightful . . .”