Ian Stark: I'm sorry Rod, but the position's filled as long as Henry's around.
Henry McNeeley: Oh great, why don't you just tell him I bleed liquid gold?
Henry McNeeley: Guess what severely incapacitated man wrote 600 pages in two days?
Ian Stark: Stop throwing Stephen King in my face!
Maddie: For your information, I finished the book.
Rod: What's Thomas's middle name?
Rod: What color is Claudia's car?
Maddie: Candy apple red.
Rod: Why don't girls like me?
Maddie: They're all lesbians.
Rod: I knew it!
Ian Stark: Rod, I know what it's like to walk around with a circus in your head. There's noise and lights and everywhere you look, people are havin' a good time - and then suddenly you realize that you're on the wrong side of the cage and there's no cotton candy for you.
Henry McNeeley: That doesn't make any sense.
Rod: Yes it does.
Ian Stark: Then you look in those wiggly funhouse mirrors and all you can see is your high school guidance counselor and he's got Ritz cracker eyes and candy corn teeth... and he's laughing while your father swings from his belt.
Rod: Okay, now you lost me.
Henry McNeeley: He wants me to edit it.
Ian Stark: Then edit it.
Henry McNeeley: Yeah, that shouldn't be too hard since there's no pesky punctuation to get in the way of a six hundred page sentence!
Ian Stark: Six hundred page, I mean, there must be something of value.
Henry McNeeley: There was, but then he typed all over it!
Ian Stark: You know, James Joyce was weird. Van Gough was weird, Stravinski was weird. You know, talent doesn't always come wrapped up in a nice, new, shiny little box, Henry. Sometimes it's messy and organic and raw and you might just have to look a little deeper to find it.
Henry McNeeley: And sometimes when it's messy and organic and raw, it's garbage!