Did-a-chick? Dum-a-chum? Dad-a-cham? Ded-a-chek?

I like to end stories where the readers have a little room to run. They can resolve things as they like in their own mind.

and then woe is you, Pauly. Woe to the max.

He didn’t know if that was really true or not, but he discovered something which was tremendously liberating: he didn’t care. He was very tired of thinking and thinking and still not knowing. He was also tired of being frightened, like a man who has entered a cave on a lark and now begins to suspect he is lost. Stop thinking about it, then. That’s the solution.

Directing teenage actors is like juggling jars of nitro-glycerine: exhilarating and dangerous.

That's not such a bad thing,' he said to me. 'In nightmares we can think the worst. That's what they're for, I guess.

When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, 'Why god? Why me?' and the thundering voice of God answered, 'There's just something about you that pisses me off.'