“Oh, my! I'm so sorry, my lord!" I apologised, my voice coated with sarcasm. "As hardy as I am, it's just impossible to catch myself when I trip.”

“I wake up, but where? I don't just think this, I actually voice the question to myself: "Where am I?" As if I didn't know: I'm here. In my life. A feature of the world that is my existence.”

“Sure. What's the worst that could happen." Twenty minutes later, we had our answer. "I can't frecking believe this."I cringed. "I'm so sorry.""I'm bald!" Giguhl continued. "I look like a freak.""It's not that bad," I said. But it was. Oh, my lord was it bad. I'd never seen an uglier cat in my entire life.”

“Err, sorry Father Abbot. I tripped y'see. Trod on my Abbot, Father Habit. Oh dear, I mean....”

“How can I look so real everyday, when really I'm just a cardboard cut-out image of myself-lamenated in coats of artifical happiness with shiny plastic all around- so quite I should be a mime-I wrap my arms around myself when I go out in the wind because I don't know how to make sure that I won't blow away- and I'm standing with my eyes closed so I won't have to see the ground when I fall...”

“I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.”