“How could I sit here and ask this stranger to help me pick up the facts of my life? The shopping bags had burst and all my things were rolling out over a packed pavement with me scurrying after them, stooping and bumping and tripping: Excuse me, I'm sorry. Could you just...Excuse me.”

“But I just couldn't seem to get excited about the fact that we were sorta having a date.I mean, he'd asked me to go skiing with him, and so here I was, and my heart should have been pounding.But it wasn't.I could have been going to the grocery store to pick up a bag of potatoes for all the thudding it was doing.”

“You’re bleeding all over my couch.” I groaned. “Excuse the hell out of me.”

“Patience is a virtue. (Tee)Excuse me, pot, could you not pick on the kettle? (Joe)”

“I fought the mighty urge to watch her put it on. My libido had just burst out of the closet and was tripping over furniture yelling, "Who? What? Where?" (Please excuse him. He doesn't get out much)”

“I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going to close it, a horrible idea occurred to me.  Had I packed my tooth-brush?  I don’t know how it is, but I never do know whether I’ve packed my tooth-brush.My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me when I’m travelling, and makes my life a misery.  I dream that I haven’t packed it, and wake up in a cold perspiration, and get out of bed and hunt for it.  And, in the morning, I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs for it at the last moment and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-handkerchief.”