The world is full of complainers. But the fact is, nothing comes with a guarantee. I don't care if you're the Pope of Rome, President of the United States, or even Man of the Year--something can always go wrong. And go ahead, complain, tell your problems to your neighbor, ask for help--watch him fly. Now in Russia, they got it mapped out so that everyone pulls for everyone else-- that's the theory, anyway. But what I know about is Texas...And down here... you're on your own.

[to Marty] Stick your finger up the wrong person's ass?

You know a friend of mine broke his hand a while back. Put in a cast. Very next day he takes a fall, protects his bad hand, falls on his good one, breaks that too. So now he's got two busted flippers and I say to him "Creighton, I hope your wife loves you. 'Cause for the next five weeks you cannot wipe your own goddamn ass." That's the test, ain't it? Test of true love.

[to himself, about Marty] Sweet Jesus, you are disgusting.

[to Marty] Who looks stupid now?

Lover-boy oughta lock his door. Lotta nuts out there.

Let's do it outside, in nature.

[to Ray] Look. Personally I don't give a shit. I know Marty's a hard-on but you gotta do something. I don't know; give the money back, say you're sorry, or get the fuck out of here, or something...It's very humiliating, preaching about this shit...I'm not laughing at this, Ray Bob, so you know it's no fucking joke.

Even the fucking dog's gone crazy.

[to Abby] Something pretty fucking weird is going on. Put your coat on and I'll drop you at home. But don't talk to either of 'em until I do. And don't worry. Believe me. These things always have a logical explanation. Usually.