“Well, let’s all get maudlin, shall we? George, stop on the way and get us some red-hot pokers to put out our eyes. Oh, and while you’re at it, I think we should see about adding salt for our wounds, too. (Solin)Quite good, sir. Is there any particular place you’d care for me to stop? I’ve heard the market is a good place for pokers. That is, if you’re agreeable to a short detour. (George)What do you two think? Run-of-the-mill pokers, or a better quality. Oh hell, why not use rusty spoons. They’d hurt more. (Solin)”

“We need to get you to stop thinking of me as a friend, and start thinking of me as that incredibly hot mechanic you’re sleeping with.”“You are a friend, why do we need to do that?”“Because you’re stiff as a board and not in the way I want you to be.”

“You know those days when you've got the means reds?’ ‘Same as the blues?’‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘No, the blues are because you’re getting fat or maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re sad that’s all. But the mean reds are horrible. You’re afraid, and you sweat like hell, but you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don’t know what it is. You’ve had that feeling?’‘Quite often. Some people call it angst.’‘All right. Angst. But what do you do about it?’‘Well, a drink helps.’ ‘I’ve tried that. I’ve tried aspirin, too. Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle. What I’ve found does the most good is to just get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.”

“When you observe that the fire in your room is getting dull, you do not always put on more coal, but simply stir with the poker; so God often uses the black poker of adversity in order that the flames of devotion may burn more brightly.”

“My father once told me that a happy ending is just the place where you choose to stop telling the story. So this is where I choose to stop. More things are still going to happen, of course, some good, some bad. Some things never get any better. When people die they stay dead. None of us knows why we love, or why we stop loving, or why everyone we love we lose.”

“So this is hell. I'd never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is—other people!”