My definition of an intellectual is someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking of the Lone Ranger.

I've always wanted to go to Switzerland to see what the army does with those wee red knives.

But still, I kept thinking, if I'm still troubled by this, if I'm still carrying it around like a big rucksack full of bricks and my father's dead, I need someone to tell me how to get rid of this great weight. . . . The most awful thing was that it was kind of pleasant physically, you know. That's why nobody tells.

I don't know why I should have to learn Algebra... I'm never likely to go there.

I walked in on my folks doing it doggy style less than four hours ago."
"Waitress!" Jonas screamed, clicking his fingers madly. "Bring two!" then, more quietly,"You want a neck massage? A bedtime story? A bullet in the ear?

At the very leadt, we can grab Monica and hustle her skanky ass back to her dad wile you brave, strong menfolk hold off the bad guys. Right?