The Unconscious Mind Writes Poetry If It's

Life Was Such A Wheel That No Man Could Stand Upon It For Long. And It Always, At The End, Came Round To The Same Place Again.

If You Say, Well, Ok, I Don't Believe In God. There's No Evidence Of God, Then You're Missing The Stars In The Sky And You're Missing The Sunrises And Sunsets And You're Missing The Fact That Bees Pollinate All These Crops And Keep Us Alive And The Way That Everything Seems To Work Together. Everything Is Sort Of Built In A Way That To Me Suggests Intelligent Design.

Money Can't Buy Off The Lightning.

Ninety-five Percent Of People Who Walk The Earth Are Simply Inert. One Percent Are Saints, And One Percent Are Assholes. The Other Three Percent Are People Who Do What They Say They Can Do.

Working With Him Was Sort Of Like Trying To Defuse A Bomb With Somebody Standing Behind You And Every Now And Then Clashing A Pair Of Cymbals Together. In A Word, Upsetting.