Let's pretend that we're human beings and that we're actually alive.

A refined sort of butcher, a woman is.

Laughter's the nearest we ever get, or should get, to sainthood. It's the state of grace that saves most of us from contempt.

It is easy to answer the ultimate questions - it saves you bothering with the immediate ones.

There's no such thing as failure - just waiting for success.

We all of us waited for him to die. The family sent him a check every month, and hoped he'd get on with it quietly, without too much vulgar fuss.

They spend their time looking forward to the past.