When there are monsters there are miracles.

And you stagger down to break your fast. Greasy bacon and lacquered eggs And coffee composed of frigid dregs.

The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.

Some tortures are physical And some are mental, But the one that is both Is dental.

I myself am more and more inclined to agree with Omar and Satchel Paige as I grow older: Don't try to rewrite what the moving finger has writ, and don't ever look over your shoulder.

Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons, or Celts, Can't seem just to say anything is the thing it is but have to go out of their way to say that it is like something else.

Do you think my mind is maturing late, or simply rotted early?