A son is a poor substitute for a lover. I hate the illness. The fire would go out, be cold and damp like a grave. If you love someone you don't do that to them, even if you hate them. We all go a little mad sometimes, haven't you.
Old habits die hard.
She might have fooled me, but she didn't fool my mother. Norman Bates' mother has been dead and buried in Greenlawn Cemetery for the past ten years. No, I will not hide in the fruit cellar.