I don't think I have a tragic demeanor.

I am a stereotype. I am an effeminate man.

In Manhattan, every flat surface is a potential stage and every inattentive waiter an unemployed, possibly unemployable, actor.

Most men when they make up their faces, the makeup stands forward, and their faces are behind.

Nothing shortens a journey so pleasantly as an account of misfortunes at which the hearer is permitted to laugh.

Muddled syntax is the outward and audible sign of confused minds, and the misuse of grammar the result of illogical thinking.

You don't have to do anything.