In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.

I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.

Three highballs, and I think I'm St. Francis of Assisi.

All those writers who write about their own childhood! Gentle God, if I wrote about mine you wouldn't sit in the same room with me.

One more drink and I'd have been under the host.

Civilization is coming to an end, you understand.

There are times when images blow to fluff, and comparisons stiffen and shrivel.