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Then I heard another shot which hit him right in the head, over here, and his head practically opened up and a lot of blood and many more things came out.

Now I am within thirty yards of him. He must fall. The gun pours out its stream of lead. Then it jams. Then it reopens fire. That jam almost saved his life.

My brother acquired his first gun when he was very young, from a recently-fled drug dealer's residence. Now, he lived in a rural orange-grove area, and he shot at coyotes who killed his animals and at drug runners who used the groves for transport. Sometimes he joked that he only shot what moved.

If you still want to kill him, do me a favor and take him outside. Those are new sheets.

Avoid all needle drugs, the only dope worth shooting is Richard Nixon.

If poverty were a man, I would have slain him.

If any man, out of an humour, should turn all his Estate into Money, and keep it dead, he would soon be sensible of Poverty growing upon him, whilst he is eating out of the quick stock.

You know, life is long. My shooting career is long.

It's wrong to kill.