When I can't sleep I count the buckles on my straightjacket.

No sense in being pessimistic. It wouldn't work anyway.

The only type of men Julia's mother had warned her about were wealthy industrialist who polluted the environment and took advantage of third-world countries. And Republilicans.

Why can I never go back to bed? Who's is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?

When it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.

Sleep comes more easily than it returns.