I am not fit to marry. I am often cross, and I like my own way, and I have a distaste for men.

There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship.

I found marriage somewhat stifling. I don't know that I am the kind of man who ought to be married.

And when I think about that, I think that if nothing but being married will help a man, he's durn nigh hopeless.

I am alone and miserable. Only someone as ugly as I am could love me.

I, marry? Oh, I could never bring myself to do it. I would have been in mortal misery all my life for fear my wife might say, "That's a pretty little thing," after I had finished a picture.

I've never done much, but I've lived my whole life thinking of myself as the only real man. And if I'm right, then a limpid, lonely horn is going to trumpet through the dawn some day, and a turgid cloud laced with light will sweep down, and the poignant voice of glory will call for me from the distance — and I'll have to jump out of bed and set out alone. That's why I've never married. I've waited, and waited, and here I am past thirty.

You are only a puppet. But you don't realize that you are.

It sure do bother me to see my loved ones turning into puppets.

I don't know why I'm crying. Am I suspended in Gaffa? Not until I'm ready for you, Not until I'm ready for you Can I have it all.