“No. Not for saving my life. Besides, that’s in your canine DNA. Like a St. Bernard.” “A whirlwind of deadly blows,” she reminded him.”

“It doesn’t bother you that your canine brethren are being paraded around show rings like slaves?”“My canine brethren?” I said. “I don’thave any canine brethren.”“How can you say that! You’re a werewolf.”“That’s right. I’m a werewolf, not a poodle. What makes you think I have any kinship with dogs?”

“St. Bernard said, ‘Every word one writes smites the Devil.”

“Though her husband often went on business trips, she hated to be left alone."I've solved your problem," he said. "I've bought you a St. Bernard. Its name is Great Reluctance. Now, when I go away, you shall know that I am leaving you with Great Reluctance!"She hit him with a waffle iron.”

“There’s no spirit or soul. I will be dead. Get that through your thick head. I’ll be dead. And I live, in quotation marks, in my children, in my DNA, in my books, in my reputation. It’s as simple as that.”

“I thought this was a game,” I remind him. “Not anymore and you know it. Everything else in my life is all fucked up. This is the only thing that’s real.”