Love Looks Forward, Hate Looks Back, Anxiety

As We Grow Older, Our Capacity For Enjoyment Shrinks, But Not Our Appetite For It.

The Neurotic Lies Awake At Night, Composing Letters To Those He Hates. He Seldom Thinks Of Dropping A Line To Those He Loves.

The Neurotic Usually Obeys His Own Golden Rule: Hate Thy Neighbor As Thyself.

I Know Which Side My Bread Is Buttered On: The Side Which Falls On The Carpet.

The Trouble With Women Is Men; The Trouble With Men, Men.