Kilgore Trout once wrote a short story which was a dialogue between two pieces of yeast. They were discussing the possible purposes of life as they ate sugar and suffocated in their own excrement. Because of their limited intelligence, they never came close to guessing that they were making champagne.

The biggest truth to face now - what is probably making me unfunny now for the remainder of my life - is that I don't think people give a damn whether the planet goes or not. It seems to me as if everyone is living as members of Alcoholics Anonymous do, day by day. And a few more days will be enough. I know of very few people who are dreaming of a world for their grandchildren.

Extenuating circumstance to be mentioned on Judgment Day: We never asked to be born in the first place.

Alcohol and marijuana, if used in moderation, plus loud, usually low-class music, make stress and boredom infinitely more bearable.

His response was to fight it with the only weapons at hand—passive resistance and open displays of contempt.

You have to go, but I have to stay.

And we all vied, in saving face, to be the greatest student of human nature, the person with the quickest sense of humor.