Humanity is a spectator sport. God is the spectator.

God exists. He has one wicked sense of humor, and right now he’s having a grand old time punking the planet.

Nothing is harder on the nerves than hope.

Sanity is over-rated. It lacks color.

What’s more insane? Hearing imaginary voices? Or not hearing the real ones?

Guns are not the problem. The species is the problem.

We don’t go in for that psychodynamic stuff around here. Those guys will talk you to death, clean out your bank account while they are doing it, and then invite you to come back and express your innermost feelings about being broke.

Powell’s face appeared on screen. “It’s true, the doomsday crowd is a little crazy,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

God exists. He has one wicked since of humor, and right now he’s having a grand old time punking the planet.

I killed a couple of people,” Scooter said. “Wanna play cards?

You can scoff at opinions. You can reject hypotheses. You can discard theories out of hand. But you cannot reject the facts

John raised an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t date someone like you?”“Oh, hell, no. I’m insane, but that would be nuts.

Damnation is eternal. That’s the whole point. Otherwise, what good would it do you?

You know how they say that if you think you might be going crazy, it’s proof that you’re not? Well, it’s a lie. One of many they tell you about mental illness.