Feelings...

"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

"We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with five hundred channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra."

"You know, man, it could be worse: a woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car."
E o condutor exclamar: Ó Maria! fuoda-se, tu viste só os tubaros daquele mosquito?!