Annie Nielsen: Dear Diary, I am writing in your bullshit pages because my shrink is crazier then I am. He thinks you're therapy. He figures if two babies can hammer me into a Psycho ward, what will I do with this? He is so stupid. He's so stupid that he thinks he pulled me through the breakdown when it was Christy. Always. Only Chris. I was looking through his postcards. Paintings were his obsession. He used art as another way to love me, to help me. To keep us always together.
The Tracker: Your wife love you as strong? We'll find her. When we find her nothing will make her recognize you. Nothing will break her denial. It's stronger than her love. In fact, reinforced by her love. You can say everything you long to say, including good-bye. Even if she can't understand it. And you'll have the satisfaction that you didn't give up. That has to be enough.
Chris Nielsen: You just get me there, I'll decide what's enough.
The Tracker: You were expecting physical danger? What could it do, kill ya, huh? No, in Hell there's real danger. Of losing your mind.