"It's true, true, true, true, my friends. For, by the latest information, our soul Challenger has just broken the ring of evil the deep blue meanies have so righteously wrought. Get through 'em, baby! Get through 'em!"

"Kowalski, can you hear me? Do you hear me, Kowalski? Now, I know you can hear me, Kowalski. I'm sure you hear me now. This very minute. Now, you listen very carefully. The whole mobile force of the Nevada State Highway Patrol is after you. They waitin' for you to come up for air. Yeah. Now, some people imagine you'll try to get to California through Death Valley. And others bet you'll die there in the desert. These few are just too happy to see you vanish for good out there. But my tape deck is just as jammed with telegrams as my head is jammed with phone calls from people who are wishing you well in your getaway, no matter where it might lead you. I wish I could help you, but I can't. I can't. I don't think anybody can, except for that crazy lucky streak of yours. And now you're gonna need more luck. All of it, perhaps, and badly. You can beat the police, you can beat the road and you can even beat the clock. But you can't beat the desert. Nobody can."

"And today, in a beautiful gesture made by beautiful people, in beautiful downtown Goldfield, this radio station was named KOWalski, in honor of the last American hero, to whom speed means freedom of the soul. The question is not when's he gonna stop, but who is gonna stop him."

"And there goes the Challenger, being chased by the blue, blue meanies on wheels. The vicious traffic squad cars are after our lone driver, the last American hero, the electric centaur, the, the demi-god, the super driver of the golden west! Two nasty Nazi cars are close behind the beautiful lone driver. The police numbers are gettin' closer, closer, closer to our soul hero, in his soul mobile, yeah baby! They about to strike. They gonna get him. Smash him. Rape... the last beautiful free soul on this planet. But, it is written: "If the evil spirit arms the tiger with claws, Brahman provided wings for the dove." Thus spake the super guru."

"Tighten your seat belt. You never had a trip like this before."

"It's the maximum trip... at maximum speed."

"Watch carefully because everything happens fast. The chase. The desert. The shack. The girl. The roadblock. The end."

"Barry Newman - Kowalski"

"Dean Jagger - Prospector"

"Cleavon Little - Super Soul"

"Barboura Morris — Carla"

"Antony Carbone — Leonard de Santis"

"Julian Burton — Maxwell H. Brock"

"I'm proud to say my poetry is only understood by that minority which is aware."

"Walter has a clear mind. One day something will enter it, feel lonely... and leave again."

"Attention. Attention, everyone! As you passed through these yellow portals I'm sure you noticed on your right a small clay figure and assumed this transfixed effigy to be the work of a master sculptor. And indeed, so it is. That master sculptor is in our midst. He's none other that Walter Paisley, our very own busboy, whose hands of genius have been carrying away the empty cups of your frustration. Mark well this lad. His is the silent voice of creation. But in the dark, rich soil of humility, he blossoms as the hope of our nearly sterile century! [Crowd breaks into applause as Maxwell finishes his speech] Bring me an espresso, Walter."

"I refuse to say anything twice. Repetition is death... When you repeat something, you are reliving a moment, wasting it, severing it from the other end of your life. I believe only in new impressions, new stimuli, new life!"

"Life is an obscure hobo, bumming a ride on the omnibus of art."

"The bird that flies now pays later through the nose of ambidextrous apathy. Necrophiles may dance upon the placemats in an orgy of togetherness. The highway of life cuts sharply through the shady ghettos and the ivy-covered tunes. And laughter rings from every time capsule in the star-spangled firmament. And in the deep freeze it is the children's hour. And no one knows that Duncan is murdered. And no one knows that Walter Paisley is born. Duncan knows, Tuesday sunrise knows. Alley cats and garbage cans and steaming pavements and you and I and the nude descending the staircase and all such things with souls, we know that Walter Paisley is born! Ring rubber bells, beat cotton gongs, strike silken cymbals, play leathern flutes. The cats and cans and you and I and all such things with souls, we shall hear: Walter Paisley is born! And the souls become flesh; Walter Paisley is born!"

"Dick Miller — Walter Paisley"

"A Comedy of Errors! A Comedy of Terrors!"

"I will talk to you of Art, for there is nothing else to talk about, for there is nothing else... Life is an obscure hobo bumming a ride on the omnibus of Art. Burn gas, buggies, and whip your sour cream of circumstance and hope, and go ahead and sleep your bloody heads off. Creation is, all else is not. What is not creation is graham crackers; let it all crumble to feed the creator; feed him that he may be satisifed. The Artist is, all others are not. A canvas is a canvas or a painting. A rock is a rock or a statue. A sound is a sound or is music. A preacher is a preacher, or an Artist. Where are John, Joe, Jake, Jim, Jerk? dead, dead, dead They were not born before they were born, they were not born... Where are Leonardo, Rembrandt, Ludwig? Alive! Alive! Alive! They were born! Bring on the multitudes with a multitude of fishes: feed them with the fishes for liver oil to nourish the Artist, stretch their skin upon an easel to give him canvas, crush their bones into a paste that he might mold them. Let them die, and by their miserable deaths become the clay within his hands that he might form an ashtray or an ark. Pray that you may be his diadem: gold, glory, paint, clay, that he might take you in his magic hands and wring from your marrow wonder. For all that is comes through the eye of the Artist. The rest are blind fish swimming in the cave of aloneness. Swim on you maudlin, muddling, maddened fools, and dream that one bright, sunny night the Artist will bait a hook and let you bite upon it. Bite hard and die!... in his stomach you are very close to immortality."

"A new dimension in horror!"

"Will YOU join his human museum?"

"The Picture That'll Make You... sick sick SICK with Laughter!"

"Inside every artist... Lurks a mad man!"

"You'll be sick - from laughing!"

"Roger Corman's Cult Classic is Bloody Good Fun!"

"Sonia Torgeson — Alice Woodward"

"Tom Graeff — Joe Rogers"

"King Moody — Spacecraft Captain"

"Helen Sage — Nurse Morse"

"Harvey B. Dunn — Gramps Morgan"