The reality of what we really are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.
Some men are Baptists, others Catholics; my father was an Oldsmobile man.
Can you imagine 4,000 years passing, and you're not even a memory? Think about it, friends. It's not just a possibility. It is a certainty.
I had woven a tapestry of obscenity that as far as I know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.
The hand of fate had dipped into the ragbag of humanity.
I've met them down in the Cost and Accounting Department, clean-shaven and in white collars. They can't see a damn thing ridiculous about themselves... only about you.
The Bumpuses were so low down on the evolutionary totem pole that they weren't even included in Darwin's famous family tree. They had inbred and ingrown and finally emerged from the Kentucky hills like some remnant of Attila the Hung's barbarian horde. Flick said that they had webbed feet and only three toes. It might have been true.
In God we trust; all others pay cash.
The truth will always have a market.
Being a White Sox fan meant measuring victory in terms of defeat. A 6-5 defeat was a good day. A big rally was Wally Moses doubling down the right- field line.
A man today never feels so alive as when he is hurtling from one point to another on the azimuth.
There are fewer things more thrilling in life than lumpy letters. That rattle.
Manhattan cabs are born old.
In all my years of New York cab riding I have yet to find the colorful, philosophical cabdriver that keeps popping up on the late movies.
I had been an eyewitness to a truly historic moment in American pop culture.
Randy lay there like a slug. It was his only defense.
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