My final word: don't follow your dreams . . . chase them. With a stick, or a shovel, or whatever you have handy. Get that [bleep]ing dream!

We study there a lot because... what other choice does society give us, right? It's Starbucks or death, sometimes.

Did you hear?" he asked. "They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely." "Good morning," I replied. "Morning. Listen to this. The second victim.

She couldn't take her eyes off the boxers. Mostly, she had a view of the back, but he turned halfway when he looked over. She commanded herself not to look at the front flap, which, of course, was exactly what she honed in on. He spit and put his mouth under the tap to get some water. All while just wearing underwear. All while she just stared at the crucial spot of the Action Pants.

Something about this boat screamed, "I am a very popular model in the world's oil-bearing regions. I cost more than your soul!

I have no phobias. Phobias are irrational. My fears are rational and CAREFULLY CULTIVATED, like roses.

I'm the last of the mad ones.