Here I sit, alone at 60, Bald and fat and full of sin Cold the seat, and loud the cistern As I read the (Harpic) (Lysol) tin

Sometimes there is no next time, no time-outs, no second chances. Sometimes it’s now or never.

Life is rather like a tin of sardines - we're all of us looking for the key.

All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.

History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind with the bucket.

A bookshelf is as particular to its owner as are his or her clothes; a personality is stamped on a library just as a shoe is shaped by the foot.

If you think squash is a competitive activity, try flower arranging.

The majority of people perform well in a crisis and when the spotlight is on them; it's on the Sunday afternoons of this life, when nobody is looking, that the spirit falters.

Mark my words, when a society has to resort to the lavatory for its humour, the writing is on the wall.

I saw someone peeing in Jermym Street the other day. I thought, is this the end of civilization as we know it? Or is it simply someone peeing in Jermyn Street?

Above literature?' said the Queen. 'Who is above literature? You might as well say one was above humanity.

Some days I wonder how I'll get through a whole lifetime of thinking. A life that's just words, words, words, shuffling around in my head. Was I born that way?

We eat junk because it's cheap and it lights up the pleasure centers of our brain. And we do drugs because it's an effective way to feel good or escape something.

Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones.

I, who fall short in managing my own affairs, can see just how it would profit my neighbor if I managed his.

When I was a little girl - well, like, a teenager - I wanted to be Sam Jackson. I always wanted to be men.

I spend so much time alone that whenever I see my shadow I feel crowded.

The maximum value of art is that it allows the artist to express himself.

Capitalism needs neither propaganda nor apostles. Its achievements speak for themselves. Capitalism delivers the goods.

Separating them were two layers of brick, a few inches of plaster, and nine years of silence.

The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.