I'm a Taurus, you know. A bull. I belong in a field.
I want truth. I'm crying out to hear it. I need it like oxygen.
Looking through family photographs now is like watching an episode of 'Dad's Army.' My relatives seem to drop like flies around me. Who's next? Will it be someone I can't stand?
I can't abide small talk.
I have two vintage typewriters. One just about works and the other hasn't a hope in hell, bless it. But they're both beautiful, and they'll stay with me just as long as there's a roof over my head.
I like a decent funeral, and God knows in my family we've seen enough of them. Looking through family photographs now is like watching an episode of 'Dad's Army.'
I once knew a girl who didn't know where anywhere was in the world. Not a clue. I asked her if she knew where Africa was and she answered, 'Is it the orange one on a map?'
Milk which is just about to turn is akin to that moment spent on the cusp of failure in a dulled and fettered relationship.
Seven thirty in the morning is too early for a man of my standing.
I'm the worst ad anyone could possibly be for abstaining from anything.
We must remember to enjoy ourselves.
I've spent so much of my adult life in relationships that it's actually quite pleasant to be alone at last. I turned thirty-six the other day, which staggers me when I think about it.
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