And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time’s malleability.

History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation.

Some of the freckles I once loved are now closer to liver spots. But it’s still the eyes we look at, isn’t it? That’s where we found the other person, and find them still.

Later on in life, you expect a bit of rest, don't you? You think you deserve it. I did, anyway. But then you begin to understand that the reward of merit is not life's business.

What you end up remembering isn't always the same as what you have witnessed.

Time...give us enough time and our best-supported decisions will seem wobbly, our certainties whimsical.

May you be ordinary, as the poet once wished the new-born baby.

Life seemed even more of a guessing game than usual.

I thought of the things that had happened to me over the years, and of how little I had made happen.

Is there anything more plausible than a second hand?

you find yourself repeating, ‘They grow up so quickly, don’t they?’ when all you really mean is: time goes faster for me nowadays.

Liberace was certainly master and commander of the ivories ~ he is the only pianist I can watch or listen to without suffering a case of 'Stagefright Sympathy Sickness'.

Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others.

A lot of presidential memoirs, they say, are dull and self-serving. I hope mine is interesting and self-serving.

If every moment is sacred and if you are amazed and in awe most of the time when you find yourself breathing and not crazy, then you are in a state of constant thankfulness, worship and humility.

But, tears were not the things to find their way to Mr. Bumble's soul; his heart was waterproof.

My material never comes out verbatim every time. I always tweak in a line, or tweak away a line, gain a couple tags or lose a couple tags. The timing is always off.

Poetry is God's work.

He gaped at the controls. "Why is my ship talking back to me?

Man often thinks of either his past or his future and in the mean time today passes like a fast train, disappearing forever on the horizon of life!

Bad music can make you weak.