Money Is Not A Substitute For Tenderness,

I Would Lying If I Said I Would Laugh In The Face Of Death.

What Is It About Childhood That Never Lets You Go, Even When You're So Wrecked It's Hard To Believe You Ever Were A Child?

With Marguerite, He Wanted Only Time—more And More Time—and He Was Granted It, Nighttimes And Daytimes And Nighttimes Again.

But You Grab A Moment, Or You Let It Pass.

He Never Spoke Of That Night Again, Not To Your Mother, Not To Anyone Else. He Was Ashamed For Her, For Mickey, For Himself. In The Hospital, He Stopped Speaking Altogether. Silence Was His Escape, But Silence Is Rarely A Refuge. His Thoughts Still Haunted Him.' ~pg 139