I have now seen sucrose beaches and water a very bright blue. I have seen an all-red leisure suit with flared lapels. I have smelled suntan lotion spread over 2,100 pounds of hot flesh. I have been addressed as "Mon" in three different nations. I have seen 500 upscale Americans dance the Electric Slide. I have seen sunsets that looked computer-enhanced. I have (very briefly) joined a conga line.

My worst character flaw that I'm conscious of is that I tend to think my way into circles instead of resolving anything. It's paralyzing and boring for people around me.

The integrity of my sleep has been forever compromised, sir.

‎Who would die for this chance to be fed this death of pleasure with spoons, in their warm homes, alone, unmoving?

The individual's right to pursue his own vision of the best ration of pleasure to pain: utterly sacrosanct.

Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic and a dyslexic?

True heroism is minutes, hours, weeks, year upon year of the quiet, precise, judicious exercise of probity and care—with no one there to see or cheer. This is the world.