I make love like I make money. Well, I would, if somebody would actually pay me to have sex with them. So here I am, broke and sexless.
I make love like I make sausages. And I don’t make sausages. At least not myself. I pay someone to make it for me. And sometimes I even pay for the sex that I’m paying someone else to make for me.
For every uneaten sandwich there’s an unopened sandwich bag full of baby’s tears. I’d give you a straw, but around here, those anal devices are rare. Also, I think I’m in love. Either that or I’m thirsty.
I can’t remember if I’ve time traveled, because memory only covers the past, and it’s likely I’ve only been to the future. But that’s natural, because that’s where I store all my love.
Steal my stuff, but don’t you dare steal my time. It’s all I’ve got in this life. Well, that and a lot of love to give. Oops. Did I say give? I meant sell.
If you can pick the baby up without him squirting our of your hands like a bar of soap in the shower, he's not oiled up enough.
In Paris, the dance was everything. The dance of romance was what a man could remember in his old age. Didn’t all young Americans come to Europe in search of that kind of romance?
Outside, in the hallway, my mother stopped. She pressed both hands to her chest, closed her eyes, and said under her breath, 'It's so bitter.' 'What, Mama?' 'Old age.' [p. 187]
Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth.... Through words and concepts we shall never reach beyond the wall off relations, to some sort of fabulous primal ground of things.
I seem to walk on a transparent surface and see beneath me all the bones and wrecks and tentacles that will eventually claim me: in other words, old age, incapacity, loneliness, death of others & myself...
Negative self talk costs more than even the richest person can afford. So be nice to yourself whenever possible … and know that it is always possible.
When society gives censors wide and vague powers they never confine themselves to deserving targets. They are not snipers, but machine-gunners. Allow them to fire at will, and they will hit anything that moves.
Torture when inflicted on children becomes indefensible. Even among those who believe that torture is a defensible practice to extract information, the case for inflicting pain and abuse upon children proves impossible to support.
Ageing is very rare. We only see it in humans and laboratory animals and in zoo animals and in our pets. Basically, organisms that are protected from the external world. Once you create that protection, you live long enough to see ageing.
I have the not altogether unsatisfying impression that civilisation is collapsing around me. Is it my age, I wonder, or the age we live in? I am not sure. Civilisations do collapse, after all, but on the other hand people grow old with rather greater...
I want to grow old without facelifts... I want to have the courage to be loyal to the face I've made. Sometimes I think it would be easier to avoid old age, to die young, but then you'd never complete your life, would you? You'd never wholly know you...
People above the line of bare subsistence in this age, and in all earlier ages, do not use the surplus which society has given them primarily for useful purposes. They do not seek to expand their lives, to live more wisely, intelligently, understandi...
What do you fear, lady?" (Aragorn) asked. "A cage," (Éowyn) said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire." — J.R.R. Tolkien (The Two Towers)
Nemo Nobody aged 118: At my age the candles cost more than the cake. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid I haven't been alive enough. It should be written on every school room blackboard: Life is a playground - or nothing.
Thor: [about Asgardian mead] It is not meant for mortal men. Stan Lee: Neither was Omaha Beach, blondie! Stop trying to scare us, come on! Thor: All right. [pours a glass for Lee - cut to Lee being carried off in a daze] Stan Lee: Excelsior...
Wilbur (Age 10): Is it true she's got a glass eye? I heard she got it from the gypsies... Young Don Price: What's a gypsy? Ed Bloom (Age 10): Your momma's a gypsy. Young Don Price: Your momma's a bitch.
