One can’t solve everything.

Death, grieving, mourning, they’re all commonplace. Logic is rare, and so… I dwell on logic.

I’ve never had much use for imagination. I prefer facts.

If I ever write a story myself it will be to correct the millions misconceptions created by his imaginative license.

I think I was real once until John made me into fiction. And then after that, I had little choice. Play the part as he’d fashioned it, or become its contradiction.