“She can't help it,' he said. 'She's got the soul of a poet and the emotional makeup of a junkyard dog.”

“A stray dog, I might understand," she said. "But this? You are too softhearted."No, Mabry," Ravus said. "I am not." He looked in Val's direction. "I think she wants to die."Maybe you can help her after all," Mabry said. "You're good at helping people die.”

“Her makeup artist, Allan Snyder, recalled applying her makeup in the morning while she was still flat on her back in bed. “There was no other way,” he said. “It would take her so long to get up in the morning, we had to start with the makeup before she was out of bed.”

“I can't help it. I'm just a big gasbag. I still got leftover barbeque gas." She squeezed her eyes shut tight and did a full minute-long far. "Excuse me," she said.”

“What the hell was the matter with these people? How did they not see that of all the people on the planet, she was probably the least qualified to help them with their emotional problems? It was like asking a dog to do algebra.”

“I have a feeling we're mooning a mean junkyard dog, all brave and laughing - until the dog's leash breaks”