He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears

Then - As He Was Talking - A Set Of Tail-lights Going Past Lit Up Mcmurphy's Face, And The Windshield Reflected An Expression That Was Allowed Only Because He Figured It'd Be Too Dark For Anybody In The Car To See, Dreadfully Tired And Strained And Frantic, Like There Wasn't Enough Time Left For Something He Had To Do.

No, My Friend. We Are Lunatics From The Hospital Up The Highway, Psycho-ceramics, The Cracked Pots Of Mankind. Would You Like Me To Decipher A Rorschach For You?

Living Is The Purpose Of Life, And Meaning Can Be Found Therein. I Finds Thou. Thou Becomes It. And It Begins Again.

Ritual Is Necessary For Us To Know Anything.

You’re Just A Young Kid. What Are You Doin’ Here? You Oughta Be Out In A Convertible, Why… Bird-doggin’ Chicks And Bangin’ Beaver. What Are Ya Doin’ Here, For Christ’s Sake? What’s Funny About That? Jesus, I Mean, You Guys Do Nothin’ But Complain About How You Can’t Stand It In This Place Here And Then You Haven’t Got The Guts Just To Walk Out!