“You may be dying, but I’m going to have a picnic and enjoy this glorious day. I won’t let your impending death spoil my afternoon.”

“-Hey, neighbor, is your wife free for a date today?
-No, I’m taking her out this afternoon?
-Great! Then you won’t mind if I come over and mow your lawn. Sucker!”

“I won’t ever walk out on my woman, not even if she gives me Gatorade and says I’m good to go.”

“I want to share my thoughts with you. Press your forehead firmly against mine, and let my mind transfer to yours. You won’t receive love, because that’s a feeling, and best communicated with a kiss.”

“If the ink of my writing morphed into ants, would they march along with my thoughts? Would they find my work as enjoyable as a picnic? If the answer is no, I wouldn’t hesitate to stomp all over my writing.”

“The closer I get, the faster I have to go. Otherwise, I might be late to the very place where I’m not even expected. Adding to my tardiness is the fact that I don’t even know where I’m going. And I can’t get from here to there when I don’t even know where I am, let alone where I’m going. All I know is I’m going fast, but not fast enough.”

“When I go to a restaurant and they say, “How many in your party?” and I say, “One,” I feel sad because one is not really a party. But me and my 32 clones don’t let that stop us from enjoying myselves.”