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.

Trying to keep up with current slang sucks.

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

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

I cannot bring myself to vote for a woman who has been voice-trained to speak to me as though my dog has just died.