“My uncle Alex Vonnegut, a Harvard-educated life insurance salesman who lived at 5033 North Pennsylvania Street, taught me something very important. He said that when things were really going well we should be sure to NOTICE it. He was talking about simple occasions, not great victories: maybe drinking lemonade on a hot afternoon in the shade, or smelling the aroma of a nearby bakery; or fishing, and not caring if we catch anything or not, or hearing somebody all alone playing a piano really well in the house next door. Uncle Alex urged me to say this out loud during such epiphanies: "If this isn't nice, what is?”

“Let me alone, said Mildred. I didn't do anything.Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. how long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?”

“Let you alone! That’s all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?”

“We were almost back to the jail with our second load, and I was just beginning to think we might pull this off, when Uncle Wiggens wandered into the street.'Who there?' he called out, his words slurred.Emma ducked behind a tree, but I didn't move fast enough. 'Is that you, Dit?'I nodded. Something was strange about him.'What you doing out so late at night?' he asked.'Nothing.' I figured out what was strange. 'Where's your leg?' I asked. His leg ended at the knee and he was hopping along on one leg and his cane.'Left it at home,' said Uncle Wiggens. 'Always do when I'm sleepwalking. My daughter warned me about drinking a whole bottle of whiskey in one sitting. But I was never one to let a woman tell me what to do.''Yeah. Me neither.''Well,' said Uncle Wiggens, 'I'd best get on home before I wake up.''Yeah.''Being without my leg and all.''That would be embarrassing.''Sure would. Sure would.' Uncle Wiggens mumbled to himself as he wandered off. 'General Lee always said, if you ain't got all your supplies, don't ride into battle. Course he meant bullets, but he wouldn't have liked us going off without our legs neither. Course most of us have our legs buttoned on, but...”

“Hey, he's not using a holster," I said, glancing at Alex's on the dresser. He laughed out loud. "Yeah, I guess he must want something shooting off. It'd be so great if these things were true to life - the next scene would show him at hospital like, clutching himself in agony."'Angel - L.A.Weatherly”

“My uncle ordered popoversfrom the restaurant's bill of fare.And, when they were served,he regarded them with a penetrating stare.Then he spoke great words of wisdomas he sat there on that chair:"To eat these things," said my uncle,"You must exercise great care.You may swallow down what's solid,but you must spit out the air!"And as you partake of the world's bill of fare,that's darned good advice to follow.Do a lot of spitting out the hot air.And be careful what you swallow.”