You may be dying, but I’m going to have a picnic and enjoy this glorious day. I won’t let your impending death spoil my afternoon.
Death is like bedtime—we all want to put it off until tomorrow. But when you’re going to bed, I’m just getting up, Lazarus style.
While getting a haircut, I thought about my failed marriage. Instead of feeling bad, I thought I’d grow a beard, move to the mountains, and start over.
I come bearing gifts in the form of junk food. You’re welcome. I would have brought some drugs, but I’m not a doctor.
A leap of faith doesn’t involve leg strength. Still, I can’t take any chances, so I’ve been doing squats.
I can be a better friend, lover, and humanitarian, but I can’t be a better eggroll. Sadly, I’m as good of an eggroll as I’ll ever be.
Back in high school, I started a gang called “The Illiterates.” To easily identify fellow gang members, we all wore letterman jackets.
Don’t bother calling the cops, because nobody can find me here. I know, because after all these years, I’m still trying to find myself.
Sometimes looking like you know is better than actually knowing. People respect you, and defer to you, yet you don’t have the burden that comes with heavy knowledge.
Instead of putting a Band Aid on your cut finger, why not just amputate at the elbow? See, I’m a problem solver. I should go into politics.
It’s disturbing to me that criminals are freely roaming the streets of our nation’s capital. I’m not talking about escaped prison inmates—I’m talking about politicians.
A writer edits his thoughts more thoroughly the more readers he has. You can tell I only have two readers, myself included.
She had two blueberries for eyes, and hair the color of strawberries. Too bad our love never made it past the kitchen and into the bedroom (or garage).
I want a trophy wife. I’ll keep her on the shelf next to my future Nobel peace prize. (I plan on inventing a gun that shoots love, not bullets.)
I only started playing piano because I had chickenpox when I was about 14 and wasn't allowed to play my drums for a whole week... We had a piano in the house, so I just sat down and played that instead.
There's always blood on the carpet when I play Beethoven at the piano. I hate playing the piano! And it's so hard to fight for Beethoven's soul! But that's what I have to do!
I wouldn't be able to act like Al Pacino or play the piano like Dr. John, But I could probably act better than Dr. John and play the piano better than Al Pacino.
1900: [after his grand finale on the piano, he lights the cigarette on the strings of the piano, walks to Jelly Roll Morton and says] You smoke it. 1900: I don't know how.
Ada: At night! I think of my piano in its ocean grave, and sometimes of myself floating above it. Down there everything is so still and silent that it lulls me to sleep. It is a weird lullaby and so it is; it is mine.
I can't read music. Instead, I'd do stuff inside the piano, do harmonics and all kinds of crazy things. They used to put me in these annual piano contests down at Long Beach City College, and two years in a row, I won first prize - out of like 5,000 ...
English players are as easy to coach. The problem is that the Premier League has the best players in the world, and statistically not all of them can be born in England. But we don't have enough English players: we are working very hard on it.
