People in uniform always look so great.
The nicer I am, the more people think I'm lying.
You can never predict what little things in the way somebody looks or talks or acts will set off peculiar emotional reactions in other people.
During the 1960s, I think, people forgot what emotions were supposed to be. And I don't think they've ever remembered.
I want to die with my blue jeans on.
Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?