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

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

The 50s face was angry, the 60s face was well-fed, the 70s face was foxy. Perhaps it was the right expression: there was a lot to be wary about.

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?"

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

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

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