Because life is complicated and difficult. Anyone who says otherwise hasn't truly lived.

I believe it was the great ogre philosopher Gary who observed that complexity is, generally speaking, an illusion of conscious desire. All things exist in as simple a form as necessity dictates. When a thing is labeled 'complex,' that's just a roundabout way of saying you're not observant enough to understand it.

In the middle of nowhere, along a quiet stretch of road, the diner dreamt of the hungry dead. And of two men.

Ned passed the next few minutes quietly not dying in his office, and was pleased with how well it was going. He'd stayed alive longer, but now that he was concentrating on it, it felt more like an accomplishment.

It was one thing to hide away from the world. It was quite another to discover the world didn't miss you when you were gone.

Quiet descended, a silence so consuming that even the drafty corridors ceased whistling. Bog wasn't certain where to look, so he solved the problem by plucking out his eyes and sticking them in a drawer.

He gives me the hairy eyeball, and asks me to help him find his pancreas.

The wisest man knows he know nothing.

Terrible errors are rarely made all at once. Usually they are performed one small misstep at a time.

All coincidences are Odd. That's what makes them coincidences.

Those who write are writers. Those who wait are waiters.

Reality is like a fruitcake pretty enough to look at but with all sorts of nasty things lurking just beneath the surface.

Death should take more care with his paperwork.