My life has a superb cast, but I cannot figure out the plot.

For some strange reason, no matter where I go, the place is always called "here".

Don't call it freedom, unless it includes the freedom to be absolutely disgusting.

What's most interesting about some books is the question: How did this crap ever get published?

Scientists say we use 10% of our brain. That's way too much. By doing just a little every day, I can gradually let the task completely overwhelm me.

I believe the stars can affect human lives, particularly by providing employment for thousands of astrologers.

Beware! Freedom of speech also includes the freedom to be misunderstood.