I'm shy and can't for the life of me barge around and slap people on the back. I sit in a corner by myself and am tickled to death when someone comes over to talk to me

Maybe I thought too much about picking up the money and not enough about the really good parts.

Being a good host offsets the deprivation and loneliness of my youth

I wish I were the type who could walk into a place and have everybody love me. But I'm not, and there's no use wishing

I'm working myself to death.

Nobody's strong enough to stand up under a flood of weak material.

I'm no good with words but I'll find ways from time to time to show you how grateful I am.