“I have graded my separate works from A to D. The grades I hand out to myself do not place me in literary history. I am comparing myself with myself. Thus can I give myself an A-plus for Cat’s Cradle, while knowing that there was a writer named William Shakespeare. The report card is chronological, so you can plot my rise and fall on graph paper, if you like:Player Piano BThe Sirens of Titan AMother Night ACat’s Cradle A-plusGod Bless You, Mr. Rosewater ASlaughterhouse-Five A-plusWelcome to the Monkey House B-minusHappy Birthday, Wanda June DBreakfast of Champions CWampeters, Foma & Grandfalloons CSlapstick DJailbird APalm Sunday C”

“My importance to the world is relatively small. On the other hand, my importance to myself is tremendous. I am all I have to work with, to play with, to suffer and to enjoy. It is not the eyes of others that I am wary of, but of my own. I do not intend to let myself down more than I can possibly help, and I find that the fewer illusions I have about myself or the world around me, the better company I am for myself.”

“A lover asked his beloved,Do you love yourself more than you love me?Beloved replied, I have died to myself and I live for you.I've disappeared from myself and my attributes,I am present only for you.I've forgotten all my learnings,but from knowing you I've become a scholar.I've lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.I love myself...I love you.I love you...I love myself.”

“I visualized myself at Norma's house, stretched out on her couch, my eyes closed, and she at bthe paino playing a powerful movement from some Symphony in D major by Beethoven, by Brahms, by Sibelius, by Tschaikowsky, by anybody, by Thomas Wolfe, by Ernest Hemmingway, by William Saroyan, by Jack Kerouac, by George Apostolos, by Sebastian the Prince, by Love, by Earth, by Fire, by Water, by All, Everything, Love you and I, me myself, egotist, Earth, Fire, a mad and wild concoction of all Life, and of the all-embracing All.”

“What is there? I know first of all that I am. But who am I? All I know of myself is that I suffer. And if I suffer it is because at the origin of myself there is mutilation, separation. I am separated. What I am separated from - I cannot name it. But I am separated.”

“You smell of winter dew at the first crack of dawn and when you use your power it feels like being submerged in the most intoxicating vanilla cream that I lose myself in it every time and … and you were beautiful,‟ he blurted out, catching us both by surprise. But he went on, ignoring the fact that my hand was still slipping. „So stunning in that dress the other night I could hardly look at you it hurt so much. You are the thing I dread in myself, Violet, because … I love you so much that I can‟t trust myself. I‟d die for you, give up all my power for you, I‟d give my soul in an instant, even if it meant I had to spend eternity in torment - just for one moment with you as mine. Wanting you consumes me. I dread you because I know the risk but I‟m so selfish I want you anyway. I‟d take you even though it could kill you”