— Whose little ball of paper is this?
— Oh, that would be mine. See, I wrote a note to myself, then I didn't need it. So I balled it up and now I wish I was dead.
If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite.
— What do you do for a living?
— Soap.
— Sorry?
— I make and I sell soap. The yardstick of civilization.
Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.
— Dana, did you see some shirts here in the floor-bed area?
— Yeah, I put them in the hamper.
— I have a hamper?!
— Yeah, it's in the bathroom.
— Neat. Will you tell me next time you're gonna do that, though, please?
— Well, I thought they were dirty.
— I have more than two grades of laundry, okay?
— There's not just clean and dirty. There are many subtle levels, okay?
— You hang this outside the window for 20 minutes, it's perfectly fine.