I can't do anything to death, doctor's orders.
I'm a creature of the New York City streets.
Everything is controlled by a small evil group to which, unfortunately, no one we know belongs.
I don't know what I'm doing, but my incompetence has never stopped my enthusiasm.
All things are possible, except skiing through a revolving door.
If you can delude yourself by believing that there is some kind of Santa Claus out there who is going to bail you out in the end, then it will help you get through. Even if you are proven wrong in the end, you would have had a better life than a non-believer.