Until you're grown-up they send you to reform school. After you're grown-up they send you to the penitentiary.

Home is where the heart is, home is where the fart is. Come let us fart in the home. There is no art in a fart. Still a fart may not be artless. Let us fart and artless fart in the home.

There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it's like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.

But did thee feel the earth move?

The bicycle riders drank much wine, and were burned and browned by the sun. They did not take the race seriously except among themselves.

There isn't any me. I'm you. Don't make up a separate me.

For what are we born if not to aid one another?