I can tell time, but I can’t tell time to stop or fuck off.
You haven’t lived until you’ve wiped your ass with a pile of sand. Toilet paper doesn’t measure eternity the way the sands of time do.
I remember the good old days. You must remember the good old days, because they were the days with the long white beards.
I took a shortcut and saved a ton of time. Literally 2,000 pounds of it. Now I have extra time and love to give to you.
I won’t allow anyone to buy you a clock. Not on my watch.
It’s times like these I wish I had a watch. It’d also be nice if it was broken. That would let me know that now is always the best time to love.
Her name is Today. I told her I’d call her tomorrow. That was yesterday. I’m confused about the time, but not about the fact that I’m in love.
Why have you left me, Yesterday? Was it because I slept with Today? I have a routine. Every day I do something different.
Time is a manmade concept, introduced just to sell more clocks. And I haven’t bought into the idea, which is why I am late for love.
Last night I stayed up late talking about tomorrow, and today I regret it because I was way off (by about 24 hours).
When tragedy befalls me and someone says, "Better you than me," I always reply, "Yes, I am better than you.
I would hate to see seventeen people with monosyllabic names like Mike or Ann die, but if they did, and you wrote down all their names in groups of 5-7-5, you'd have one tragic haiku.
I’m looking for a full-time portable heat generator. Must be willing to travel. If you don’t snuggle, you must cuddle—at a world champion level.
I like to pet trees—especially if they have furry leaves.
I’m like a tree frog when it comes to birthdays. Basically, my thoughts on birthdays can be summed up in two words: tree and frog.
I hear phonetically on the phone. Toiletries sounds like toilet trees to me.
If trees had love, instead of leaves, I’d gladly rake you into a pile on my lawn and fall into you.
I don’t want to do anything I have to do, even if I want to do it. Compulsion takes the fun out of it.
It’s possible that I couldn’t handle the truth, but I sure wouldn’t mind fondling it to find out.
Those who seek the Truth are logically in the dark. Therefore, if I aspire to be anything in the world, it's to be a lighthouse. And you, my midget sidekick, you can be my flashlight.
If you insist on digging for the truth, you can start at the cemetery. But not the one on the wealthy side of town, because I already dug up everything of value.
