To wszystko jest o śmierci, tak naprawdę

 W pewnej chwili butelka szampana wyśliznęła mi się z dłoni, jednak, zrobiona z jakiegoś futurystycznego gówna, nie rozbiła się.

(...)

 - Pieprzyć przemysł kreatywny - palnąłem bez zastanowienia. - W mieście ludzie nie mają co jeść.
 Moment. Jego dłoń. Mój policzek. Współrzędne świata przemieszczające się o sześćdziesiąt stopni w lewo, lekkie dzwonienie w uszach, a potem bezruch i cisza. Poczułem, jak jedna z moich dłoni podnosi się do twarzy, choć nie zdawałem sobie sprawy, że nią poruszam.
 On mnie spoliczkował.

 - Supersmutna i prawdziwa historia miłosna; Gary Shteyngart

Patrząc jej głeboko w oczy

 "So now you're a little crazy. No love. Everybody needs love. It's warped you."
 " People don't need love. What they need is succes in one form or another. It can be love but it needn't be."
 (...)
 "You might as well not have any god damned ears. You never listen to me."
 "It's because you keep on saying the same thing over and over again."
 "All right, let's have a drink and talk about it. You've been walking around with your ass up in the air since we got back together. Shit, I don't need you and you don't need me. Let's face up to the obvious."

 - Factotum; Charles Bukowski

Humanity

 I was conscientious with the ass-wipe and the paper seat covers, however: I could understand that. Nothing is worse than to finish a good shit, then reach over and find the toilet paper container empty. Even the most horrible human being on earth deserves to wipe his ass. Sometimes I have reached over and there's no paper and then when you reach for a toilet seat cover they're suddenly out of those too. You stand up and look down and yours has just fallen into the water. After that you have few alternatives. The one I find most satisfying is to wipe your ass with your shorts, dump them in there too, flush, and clog the toilet.

 - Factotum; Charles Bukowski

War wounds

 I walked with him toward the elevator. "Tell me," he asked, "how come you walk so funny?"
 "I was frying some chicken in the pan and the grease exploded, it burned my legs."
 "I thought maybe you had war wounds."
 "No, the chicken did it."
 We went down in the elevator together.

 - Factotum; Charles Bukowski