If I had to live my life again, I'd make the same mistakes, only sooner.
I'll come and make love to you at five o'clock. If I'm late start without me.
I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone.
I did what I could to inflate the rumor I was on my way to stardom. What I was on my way to, by any mathematical standards known to man, was oblivion, by way of obscurity.
I'd rather be strongly wrong than weakly right.