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.

Man is an animal whose dreams come true and kill him.

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.

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

I've had too many experiences in my life of being the first woman in some damned occupation.

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

I am one of those that always get accidentally guillotined when the Great Day of Liberation comes, because ... I guess ... I am full of parentheses. Revolutions can't abide parentheses.