“This is my situation. I'm the kind of person who, for fun, writes articles called 'Aviation Club Soars into Orbit!' and an unhappy bully I've never heard of is sending out envoys.”

“I write my stories for my children, the best fan club a writer could ever have. They keep me writing and make it fun.”

“Writer's block? I've heard of this. This is when a writer cannot write, yes? Then that person isn't a writer anymore. I'm sorry, but the job is getting up in the fucking morning and writing for a living.”

“I've never had any summer lovin'. And I've never had any school year lovin', either. I've never had a boyfriend. I've never hooked up with a guy. And this morning, on my Internet browser, an article popped up about women marrying themselves. Even my wireless connection knows I'm alone.”

“Have you been writing any personal experience articles lately?" the woman asked the writer. "No," replied the writer. "I've been busy having them.”

“I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!" Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”