I was taking my dog out the other day and I met this chap who asked me where I was going. The dog is foaming at the mouth, so I explained that I was on my way to the vet to have it put down. He asked if it was mad, to which I replied that it wasn't exactly pleased about it.

I was out walking the other evening. This fellow accosted me, and asked if that was the moon up there in the sky. I replied that I had no idea, as I was a stranger there myself.

I got up this morning. I like to get up in the morning; it gives me the rest of the day to myself. I crossed the landing and went down stairs. Mind you, if there had been no stairs, I wouldn't even have attempted it.

I felt as out of place as a left-handed violinist in a crowded string section.

We were so poor; the ultimate luxury in our house at the time was ashtrays without advertisements.

A luxury meal was prairie sandwiches - two slices of bread with wide-open spaces between them.

It was a pretty posh place. They were so used to fur coats that two bears strolled in and ordered lunch and nobody even noticed.