Nobody likes to see a stupid guy wise up.
Even the company of the mad was better than the company of the dead.
Every man or woman who loves Him, they hate Him too, because He’s a hard God, a jealous God.
A person can’t change all at once.
Who gets to be best-liked in any community? Who is the most trusted? Why, the man who does the dirty job, of course, and does it with a smile. The man who does the job you couldn’t bring yourself to do.
And when there are enough outsiders together in one place, a mystic osmosis takes place and you’re inside.
The thought process can never be complete without articulation.
God doesn’t bribe, child. He just makes a sign and lets people take it as they will.
I am your number one fan.
A hurt body and mind aren’t just like a dictatorship; they are a dictatorship. There is no tyrant as merciless as pain, no despot so cruel as confusion.
I just didn’t want her to get hurt. I thought she was going to be. But everyone gets their share, don’t they? Sure. Pow, in the nose. Pow, in the eye. Pow, below the belt, down you go, and the ref just went out for a hot dog.
Make-up covers a multitude of sins.
Of course they had more chains on him than Scrooge saw on Marley’s ghost, but he could have kicked up dickens if he’d wanted. That’s a pun, son.
It was always a pleasure to write. I can never think of a time when I just hacked something out to fulfil a contract or meet a deadline. I might have hacked things out, but it was always stuff I loved.
There’s a Mr. Hyde for every happy Jekyll face, a dark face on the other side of the mirror.
I like to hang out clothes on windy days. Sometimes that’s all I feel like. A sheet on a line.
It’s only a little secret, but having a secret makes me feel better. Like a human being again.
Even at eleven, he had observed that things turned out right a ridiculous amount of the time.
He was a clot looking for a place to happen, a splinter of bone hunting a soft organ to puncture, a lonely lunatic cell looking for a mate – they would set up housekeeping and raise themselves a cozy little malignant tumor.
Stories are artifacts, not really made things which we create and can take credit for, but pre-existing objects which we dig up.