“I feel the closest to crazy when I'm disagreeing with the voice in my head”

“You know, addressing my crazy by name doesn’t exactly help me stay sane,” I said. “Nothing can help you stay sane at this point, Mason,” said Becks. “That ship has sailed.”

“You're crazy," pronounced Becks."And you're carrying eight guns," I replied. "Now that we've covered what everybody knows, can we move on?”

“My father has always had just one piece of advice about zombies and ammunition, one he’s drilled into my head enough times that it’s managed to stick: When you have one bullet left and there’s no visible way out of the shit you’re standing in, save it for yourself. It’s better than the alternative.”

“At least you know that you're crazy. That means you have the potential to recover.”

“Gregory smiled a little, holding up an empty syringe. “I’m afraid you don’t have all that much choice in the matter. I added a little something to your IV line. We’ll see you in a few hours.”“What—?” My eyes widened. “You bastard.”“My parents were married.”“You could have… could have asked me…” My voice was already slowing down. I didn’t know whether it was psychosomatic or just very well timed, but either way, I was pissed.”

“Now I'm a God, but tomorrow, when you have to stop me from playing with dead things again, you'll be right back to calling me an idiot, won't you?”