“From what I've seen of (Larry) Bird, he's not just one bird. He's a whole flock!”

“If I die tomorrow, next year or whenever it might be, I'll know I've had a great life.”

“I just want to make it clear first of all that I do not have the AIDS disease. I plan on being here for a long time. Life is going to go on for me and I'm going to be a happy man. But sometimes you're a little naive and think 'it's not going to happen to me. It only happens to other people.' But here I am saying that it can happen to anybody. Even me, Magic Johnson.”

“Some people are too tired to give you a smile. Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give.”

“On the morning of our second day, we were strolling down the Champs-Elysées when a bird shit on his head. ‘Did you know a bird’s shit on your head?’ I asked a block or two later.Instinctively Katz put a hand to his head, looked at it in horror – he was always something of a sissy where excrement was concerned; I once saw him running through Greenwood Park in Des Moines like the figure in Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ just because he had inadvertently probed some dog shit with the tip of his finger – and with only a mumbled ‘Wait here’ walked with ramrod stiffness in the direction of our hotel. When he reappeared twenty minutes later he smelled overpoweringly of Brut aftershave and his hair was plastered down like a third-rate Spanish gigolo’s, but he appeared to have regained his composure. ‘I’m ready now,’ he announced.Almost immediately another bird shit on his head. Only this time it really shit. I don’t want to get too graphic, in case you’re snacking or anything, but if you can imagine a pot of yoghurt upended onto his scalp, I think you’ll get the picture. ‘Gosh, Steve, that was one sick bird,’ I observed helpfully.Katz was literally speechless. Without a word he turned and walked stiffly back to the hotel, ignoring the turning heads of passers-by. He was gone for nearly an hour. When at last he returned, he was wearing a windcheater with the hood up. ‘Just don’t say a word,’ he warned me and strode past. He never really warmed to Paris after that.”

“CALVIN:This whole Santa Claus thing just doesn't make sense. Why all the secrecy? Why all the mystery?If the guy exists why doesn't he ever show himself and prove it?And if he doesn't exist what's the meaning of all this?HOBBES:I dunno. Isn't this a religious holiday? CALVIN:Yeah, but actually, I've got the same questions about God.”

“A soldier's life revolves around his mail. Like many others, I've been able to follow my kid's progress from the day he was born until now he is able to walk and talk a little, and although I have never seen him I know him very well.”