Any attempts at autobiography before the age of eighty seem pretty self-involved to me. There are a lot of smart middle aged people but not many wise ones.

I was hungry and went out for a bite, ran into a chum with a bottle of rum and we wound up drinking all night.

I'm a big follower and reactor to weather.

Is it ignorance or apathy? Hey, I don't know and I don't care.

Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder, So I can't look back for too long. There's just too much to see waiting in front of me, and I know that I just can't go wrong.

Wrinkles will only go where the smiles have been.

Is it time for your medication or mine?