Hatchet murders were the house speciality of the Journal, whose front page was a virtual abattoir of murder most foul.

It wasn't going foul, ... You know when you get out in front and the ball's going to slice a little more. I wasn't in front of that ball.

Every great thinker keeps a journal, you know.

You've just got to go with what's in front of you. That's why you all should turn the page on me. You guys keep bringing back old crap. Just turn the page, move on.

A page of my journal is like a cake of portable soup. A little may be diffused into a considerable portion.

I hear they burn for murder. Well, they say it just takes a second to die.