He who chatters with you will chatter about you.
I’m afraid of fear, men named Raef, and palindromes.
If my name were C. Ross, I’d definitely be religious.
Aside from murder alibis and kinky sex, what good are clones?
Behind the waterfall of love you’ll find me, hiding in a barrel.
I am the mouth that represents the People’s Republic of Chin
I went to the mountains, but they were closed. Apparently I wasn’t on Mountain Time.
For all of life’s problems, blame my father. He was never there for me, not even at conception.
The difference between you and him and him and me isn’t different at all: we’re all different.
Witnesses in my dream can place me in my bed, asleep, at the time of the murder.
I lost my faith in my faithlessness. I believe I’m a nonbeliever now.
I made her a bathing suit—out of saran wrap. We made love like leftovers.
I am the bathtub of love, but all Agatha ever wanted was a shower.
I found your love like I found religion: in an aluminum trashcan in the middle of the Utah desert.
I hate when women give me that look. That overlook.
About adultery: Don’t go looking for pancakes when you have flapjacks at home.
Love is two souls occupying one bed. Though not a bunk bed.
Two things in life are certain: uncertainty, and I’m not sure about the second thing.
I Google myself to find out who I am as a person.
I am the burrito in the taco. Hold your skepticism, and the lettuce.
Agatha was so tight-fisted she could squeeze a penny and strangle Abe Lincoln.