“But…but you can’t treat religion as a sort of buffet, can you? I mean, you can’t say yes please, I’ll have some of the Celestial Paradise and a helping of the Divine Plan but go easy on the kneeling and none of the Prohibition of Images, they give me wind. Its table d´hôte or nothing, otherwise…well, it would be silly.”

“Then I’ll do some digging. (Fury)You just can’t help this kamikaze streak you have, can you? (Sasha)”

“Why are you showing this to me?”“It’s yours.” Petey snapped his head up to find that the pirate was no longer smiling. “I mean it. It’s yours. I have no use for it. What good is a scepter in paradise?”Setting the scepter down carefully on the table, Petey eyed the pirate with suspicion. “And why would you be wantin’ to give it to me?”“Can’t you guess? I want you to give up your claim to Miss Willis.”

“See, I know what they think about me. That I’m some project. And, yeah, I’ll accept their help. But I’m gonna pay my way. ’Cause you can’t let people like that give you anything. They think they own you then. And you know what? Nobody’s ever going to own me.”

“When one sees what happens in the world between the religions, the different religions - killing each other and murdering each other, it's disgusting and as far as I am concerned it's ridiculous. So I thought I might be useful, I believe in God and I believe in religion, but believe religions should belong to you. The extraordinary thing is that the Jews believe that only the Jews can go to paradise, the Christians believe that only a Christian can go to paradise and the Muslims believe that only the Muslims can go to paradise. Now why should God, in his great justice, make somebody born that cannot go to paradise - it is absurd. Please forgive me I don't mean to say it's absurd, people made it absurd.”

“I can’t do nothing for you either, Billy. You know that. None of us can. You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help somebody, he leaves himself wide open. He has to be cagey, Billy, you should know that as well as anyone. What could I do? I can’t fix your stuttering. I can’t wipe the razorblade scars off your wrists or the cigarette burns off the back of your hands. I can’t give you a new mother. And as far as the nurse riding you like this, rubbing your nose in your weakness till what little dignity you got left is gone and you shrink up to nothing from humiliation, I can’t do anything about that, either.”