Life Is Full Of Misery, Loneliness, And

Life Is Full Of Misery, Loneliness, And Suffering - And It's All Over Much Too Soon.

I Took A Test In Existentialism. I Left All The Answers Blank And Got 100.

That’s One Of The Nice Things About Writing, Or Any Art; If The Thing’s Real, It Just Lives. All The Attendant Hoopla About It, The Success Over It Or The Critical Rejection—none Of That Really Matters. In The End, The Thing Will Survive Or Not On Its Own Merits. Not That Immortality Via Art Is Any Big Deal. Truffaut Died, And We All Felt Awful About It, And There Were The Appropriate Eulogies, And His Wonderful Films Live On. But It’s Not Much Help To Truffaut.

Honey! Bring Down A Copy Of My Will - And An Eraser!

A Man That Has Never Lied To A Woman Has No Respect For Her Feelings.