Joanna Stayton

Tell me something about my life, about my past. Please. Something not horrible.

Dean, I'm cured. I can remember again. <...> Oh, thank you. Thank you for bringing me here and making me a wife and a mother and... Why did you do that? Why...? I know why. You're that sweaty carpenter who hates me. And these are your children, and you made me... believe that... Oh, God...

I'm a short... fat... slut.

Andrew, when I tell you to pack staples, must I specify that you are to pack good caviar and not this $1.99 fish bait! Caviar should be round and hard and of adequate size. And it should burst in your mouth at precisely the right moment.

These gnats keep landing on my wet nail polish. I guess I'm supposed to walk around with their corpses stuck to my fingers.

— They're... They're not mine.
— I was sure you'd remember them!
— Well, I think I'd remember if I had three...
— Four, honey! Don't forget little Joe.

— «Andrew! I seem to have lost my ruby earrings somewhere between... 64th... and 68th Streets. Find them!»
— I've behaved so badly. I don't know how you put up with me for so long. You've done so many wonderful things for me and I've never even once said thank you. I'm sorry.
— Apology accepted, ma'am.

The entire civilized world knows closets are made of cedar!