“Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross midgets, and no one cares whether I'm pretty or not?”

“You see, to tall men I'm a midget, and to short men I'm a giant; to the skinny ones I'm a fat man, and to the fat ones I'm a thin man.”

“Whether I'm standing behind you or facing you, the view's pretty nice.”

“And see those clouds?''Hard to miss''Those are cumulus clouds. Did you know that?''I'm sure I should.'They're the best ones.''How come?'Because they look the way clouds are supposed to look, the way you draw them when you're a kid. Which is nice, you know? ...”

“I start to see that I surround myself with broken people; more broken than me. Ah, yes, let me count your cracks. Let's see, one hundred, two... yes, you'll do nicely. A cracked companion makes me look more whole, gives me something outside myself to care for. When I'm with whole, healed people I feel my own cracks, the shatters, the insanities of dislocation in myself.”

“When one speaks of sex with midgets, one must speak French.”