Wanda Wilcox

— I can't stand people. I hate them.
— Oh, yeah?
— You hate them?
— No, but I seem to feel better when they're not around.

— Just one thing. I don't ever want to fall in love. I don't wanna go through that. I can't.
— Don't worry. Nobody's ever loved me yet.

— It was next door 308, two ambulance guys carried him out. He'd been knifed.
— Was he alive?
— He must have been, he was smoking a cigarette.

We're all in some kind of hell. And the madhouse is the only place, where people know they're in hell.