“How many psychiatrists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” “I don’t know. How many?” “Eight.” “Why?” “Oh, stop overanalyzing it.”
“How many performance artists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?I don't know. I left early.”
“Chuck said, “Hey. How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Cawley looked over at him. “I’ll bite. How many?” “Fish,” Chuck said and let loose a bright bark of a laugh.”
“How many Zen masters does it take to screw in a light bulb? The plum tree in the garden!”
“It should not matter, but it does. I want to know how many hours of the night are gone and how many remain and that there is no good reason for my wanting to know does not stop the wanting.”
“How many seconds does it take to win second? As many as it takes to win first—if you don’t use them properly.”