I like make-up sex. I find cosmetics so erotic.
I would crack a smile, but I don’t like breaking things.
I’ll write the time on my wrist, and I’ll cover it up by wearing a watch.
I can tell time, but I can’t tell time to stop or fuck off.
I won’t allow anyone to buy you a clock. Not on my watch.
I like my spaghetti like I like my women. All over my shirt.
When it comes to Schopenhauer, I think I need a To-Go box.
There is life, and there is death, and in between there is me. Please don’t wake me up.
My name is a half an hour early, but my body is on time.
A banana is not a pistol. Still, please don’t point one at me.
With six pieces of wood, I’m building a life, and my coffin.
Economist should be spelled echonomist, because they all repeat each other.
My expectations are sky low, because I’m standing on a mountaintop.
Never spontaneously combust alone, or without a bag of marshmallows nearby.
Candy is full of taste. But so is shit, because taste is full of smell.
I would have kissed her goodnight, but it was six in the morning.
Are you an Is there? or a There isn’t! kind of person? I’m more of an Is there isn’t? kind of guy.
Robots don’t make better lovers, but Roberts do.
The rivers are my memory, and I drink them at their basin and remember.
If you want to bend your mind, don’t use a crowbar.
I’d like to play a game of Marco Polo—in the 13th century.
