“At this point the door of the hospital room swung open and Lieutenant Adam Burke strode into the room, followed by a couple of uniformed officers. He glared at Andy Winslow. "You left the scene of the crime, Winslow."Andy looked innocently at the cop. "I did?""You know damned well you did. Who the hell do you think you are, letting a corpse into the house and then leaving her there on the floor to die."Andy grinned. "What corpse would that be, Lieutenant?""This one!" Burke jabbed a thumb at the slight figure on the bed."You mean Miss Mayhew, Lieutenant? I don't think Miss Mayhew is dead. Are you dead Miss Mayhew?"The slim woman managed a wan, tiny smile. "I don't think I'm dead. I don't even feel sick. I do have a dreadful headache, though."Andy Winslow grinned, "You're entitled to that." Then, to the cop, "It's true that Miss Mayhew was shot at Caligula Foxx's house. I though it was more important to make sure that she was all right, than to wait around for New York's Slowest -- er pardon me, I mean New York's Finest - to arrive.”

“Jacob," Rose persisted, "I still want to know what gave you the idea of singing like that. You weren't really drunk, were you?""Jews don't get drunk.""You don't know everybody I do.""Anyway, it was this." He laid a finger across the bridge of his nose and swept it down to the tip. "Put me in a lineup with a Chinaman, a Choctow, and a Hottentot, and ask anybody to pick out the Jew and they'll get it right on the first try.""But--""But nothing, Rose. It's the old Poe gimmick. Hide in plain sight. If a Jew tried to infiltrate that bunch of Nazis, what's the obvious thing to do? He'd head to the darkest corner he could find, he'd keep his head down and his trap shut and hope that nobody'd notice him. And do you think that would work? In a pig's ass - pardon my French, Rose - they'd catch him out in a minute. So I stood up and acted drunk and sang Nazi songs. No Jew would do that; so they just figured I was an unlucky Aryan who managed to pick up a bad gene from a wandering ancestor. So maybe this drunk wasn't quite one hundred percent pure Aryan, but he was obviously as good Nazi, so let him be. At least for now.”

“Interviewer: “Andy do you feel that the public has insulted your art?”Andy Warhol: “Uh no.”I: “Why not?”AW: “Uh well I hadn’t thought about it.”I: “It doesn’t bother you at all then?”AW: “Uh no.”I: “Well do you think that they have shown a lack of appreciation for what pop art means?”AW: “Uh no.”I: “Andy do you think that pop art has sort of reached the point where it’s becoming repetitious now?”AW: “Uh yes.”I: “Do you think it should break away from being pop art?”AW: “Uh no.”I: “Are you just going to carry on?”AW: “Uh yes.”

“Did you miss me?’“A little bit,” she said with a shrug.“You have tears running down your cheeks,” he said with a grin. “I think you missed me more than a little.”

“They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now”

“Reed, I know that you think that it's better to wait until I evolve fully, but I don't think I can wait any longer..... You are my blood now and I'm yours. We are bound to each other in every way possible but one and I.. I don't know where I'm going, I don't even know what I've become, but I know that if I am with you, then I'm free...I'm home. Let me show you what you mean to me. Let me pull you into my world, as you have pulled me into yours.”

“Baby, Andy once said that beauty is a sign of intelligence.'She turns slowly to look at me. 'Who, Victor? Who? Andy who?' She coughs, blowing her nose. 'Andy Kaufman? Andy Griffith? Who in the hell told you this? Andy Rooney?''Warhol,' I say softly, hurt. 'Baby...”