Sometimes I Say To Myself,

He Die One Day, And Then He Go Above Of My Head To Live With Your Father." He Weared The Long Hair, And After He Died, The First Day He Come Back Here For To Say Hello To The Peoples." He Nice, The Jesus.

At The End Of A Miserable Day, Instead Of Grieving My Virtual Nothing, I Can Always Look At My Loaded Wastepaper Basket And Tell Myself That If I Failed, At Least I Took A Few Trees Down With Me.

Watching Him Was Like Opening The Door To A Siniging Telegram; You Know It's Supposed To Be Entertaining, But You Can't Get Beyond The Sad Fact That This Person Actually Thinks He Bringing Some Joy Into Your Life. Somewhere He Had A Mother Who Sifted Through A Shoe Box Of Mimeographed Playbills, Pouring Herself Another Drink And Wondering When Her Son Would Come To His Senses And Swallow Some Drain Cleaner.

As A Foreigner In London, I Like That There Are So Many Other Foreigners.

I Don't Like To Read Anything On The Radio For The Very First Time, Because I Don't Have Any Notion Of A Reaction. When I Read It Out Loud, Then I Get An Idea Of That, And More Of An Idea Of How To Read.