All I can say is that laughter is my music; I would deeply suspect an argument which hadn't laughter.

And here is our girl, looking-- If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)

The only way I can possibly heat my so-called mind up to working temperature is to imagine I'm talking to someone I admire.

Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.

You know, exams are like war -- the birth rate of ideas goes up. Anything to keep from this dismal regimen, says poor mind, and hopefully tosses up another distraction.

Did you ever look into the personalities of male cooks, Army, logging camp, etc.? They're all supposed to be crazy, incomprehensible, contemptible. And angry. The act of feeding adult males seems to have strange personality effects.

Anyone who shoots a real gun at you when drunk and angry is simply not husband material, regardless of his taste in literature.