In all my years of New York cab riding I have yet to find the colorful, philosophical cabdriver that keeps popping up on the late movies.

Manhattan cabs are born old.

The hand of fate had dipped into the ragbag of humanity.

Some men are Baptists, others Catholics; my father was an Oldsmobile man.

A man today never feels so alive as when he is hurtling from one point to another on the azimuth.

The Bumpuses were so low down on the evolutionary totem pole that they weren't even included in Darwin's famous family tree. They had inbred and ingrown and finally emerged from the Kentucky hills like some remnant of Attila the Hung's barbarian horde. Flick said that they had webbed feet and only three toes. It might have been true.

In God we trust; all others pay cash.