Life is a campus: in a Greenwich Village bookstore, looking for a New Yorker collection, I asked of an earnest-looking assistant where I might find the humour section. Peering over her granny glasses, she enquired, "Humour studies would that be, sir?"

Ninety-five percent of all statistics, including this one, are bogus.

Never look to politicians to solve your problems, they will only create new ones.

I turn over a new leaf every day. But the blots show through.

The longer an event is anticipated-a milestone birthday, an eclipse, a new millennium-the more likely it is to be an anti-climax.

Trying to keep up with current slang sucks.

Lying in bed, I abandoned the facts again and was back in Ambrosia.