Me and polite have never been on close terms.

The characters within a book were, from a certain point of view, identical on some fundamental level ‒ there weren't any images of them, no physical tangibility whatsoever. They were pictures in the reader's head, constructs of imagination and ideas, given shape by the writer's work and skill and the reader's imagination. Parents, of a sort.

You don't take your cat with you to go bird shopping. Not because the cat isn't polite, but because he's a cat.

I just stood there staring, because while I've seen a lot of weird things, I hadn't ever seen that.

When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you've done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?

So?" Bob said. "Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved." "Bob," I said. "You can't just go around killing people." "I know. That's why you should do it." "No, no. I can't go around killing people, either.

I had a vague memory of being that ridiculous at one time. Let he who hath never worn parachute pants cast the first stone.