‘Even the pox is afraid to touch thy morphewed carcase.’

Miss Ratched shall line us all against the wall, where we’ll face the terrible maw of a muzzle-loading shotgun which she has loaded with Miltowns! Thorazines! Libriums! Stelazines! And with a wave of her sword, blooie! Tranquilize all of us completely out of existence.

We're here because we're willing to stand up and be counted and we're willing to do something about the problems of this community.

Johan, mine eldest son, shall have plowes five.