I am sure I have summer depression; the heat makes me instantly regret being alive.

What will I do when you're gone?" said Alasdair, with a faltering voice.Bryeison placed a hand on his shoulder and said, with raging tranquility, "Do what is good and what is right.

Never underestimate the audacity of the small minded and slightly crapulous.A rather bleezed young neighbour decided to have a grammar battle with me. It lasted all of two seconds.I said something slightly amicable, and he responded with, “You sure that's how you use that word?”I put down my laundry basket and turned to him slowly and deliberately.“Do you really want to have this discussion with me, son, or do you want to go home and rethink your life?”He grumbled and vanished.

It was the happiest time of my life. I was useful, I was learning, I was away from my father. I look back at that time with extreme fondness. It seems rather far away now, but that is what age does. Time is such a villain.

I don't talk ill about people I don't know," said Bartleby. "I only disparage them in silence and hope they die.

We all emerge into this material soup, mix about with the meat and potatoes of life, and then slip away, back to the primordial germination whence we came. Nascence is a strange business: we forget what we were doing only to come forth and continually forget what we were doing perpetually over the course of a lifetime, until it is time to quit this plane through some unseen and ethereal vomitorium, and presumably forget that we had forgotten all over again.

Bartleby is never happy, but he never can be, you know. Life in general offends him. Happiness is something that happens to other people, because life happens to Bartleby. It happens to him frequently and unwarrantedly, and every time he is forced to suffer it, he is always disappointed.