Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren't you just in another, larger one?

I used to run a full marathon in three hours and 25 or 26 minutes. Not any more.

Killing time is not an easy job.

A fortunate author can write maybe twelve novels in his lifetime.

My imagination is a kind of animal. So what I do is keep it alive.

My face, my self, what would they mean to anybody? Just another stiff. So this self of mine passes some other's self on the street - what do we have to say to each other? Hey there! Hi ya!That's about it. Nobody raises a hand. No one turns around to take another look.

We're all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.