An old racetrack joke reminds you that your program contains all the winners' names. I stare at my typewriter keys with the same thought.

It must infuriate our children to see us always so much more forbearing with everybody else's.

The neurotic doesn't know how to cope with his emotional bills; some he keeps paying over and over, others he never pays at all.

We wake in the night, to stereophonic silence.

The neurotic listens to weather reports about Small Craft Warnings, and he thinks: They're talking about me.

We sometimes feel that we have been really understood, but it was always long ago, by someone now dead.

Men gossip less than women, but mean it.