I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.
I don't want to get you drunk, but, ah, that's a very fine Chardonnay you're not drinking.
You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my God, it even has a watermark!
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.
I believe in taking care of myself and a balanced diet and rigorous exercise routine. In the morning if my face is a little puffy I'll put on an ice pack while doing stomach crunches. I can do 1000 now.
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.