If you can count your friends - those who will miss you, perhaps shed a tear for you after you conk off - you're one lucky fellow. I guess I am lucky. Then again, who can tell? May be I will have to cut off a finger! For, who knows, in the passage of time, who turns yellow.

I swear I've good morals. It's just that bad ones befriend me. I'm a friendly person, you know. But I will talk to them. Believe you me.

To lose a friend is akin losing a limb; leaving one is akin turning pauper from a king.

The only relatives who remain friends with you throughout life, are most probably but acquaintances, and not your relatives from any side.