I'm trying to have a moment o' existential dreed here, right? Crivens, it's a puir lookout if a man canna feel the chilly winds o' fate lashing aroound his netheres wi'out folks telling him he's deid, eh?

And it came to pass that in time the Great God Om spake unto Brutha, the Chosen One: "Psst!

In her own special category, she was quite beautiful. This was the category of all the women, in his entire life, who had ever thought he was worth smiling at.

Real stupidity beats artificial intelligence every time.

But here's some advice, boy. Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions.

Why bother with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?

Fantasy is uni-age. You can start it in the creche, and it follows you to death.