I call Bullshit.
Last Chance to See
Because it is so incredible: Last Chance to See (Douglas Adams)
As well as basic gorilla-watching kit – jeans, T-shirt, a sort of waterproof thing, a ton of cameras and tins of pears – there was also an immense store of dirty laundry, a suit and shoes for meeting my French publisher in Paris, a dozen computer magazines, a thesaurus, half the collected works of Dickens and a large wooden model of a Komodo dragon. I believe in travelling light, but then I also believe I should give up smoking and shop early for Christmas.
And on the topic of traveling in a ridgety plane:
I have a cheerfully reckless view of this kind of air travel. It rarely bothers me at all.
I don’t think this is bravery, because I am frequently scared stiff in cars,
particularly if I’m driving.
Wine Country
They called it Wine Country. What it was, in fact, was an area south of Market Street, adjacent to the Tenderloin, where liquor stores sold a high volume, yet small variety, of fortified wines like Thunderbird, Richard’s Wild Irish Rose, and MD 20-20 (known in the wine world as Mad Dog, for the propensity of its drinkers to urinate publicly and turn around three times before passing out on the sidewalk).
Bite Me: A Love Story (Christopher Moore)
The greatest monologue of them all….
One of the greatest speaches i one of the best films ever: Ladies and Gentleman, I present: The Box-Monologue from „Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead„.
Rosencrantz: Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead lying in a box with a lid on it?
Guildenstern: No.
Rosencrantz: Nor do I really. It’s silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box, and one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead… which should make all the difference… shouldn’t it?
I mean, you’d never know you were in a box, would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air, you’d wake up dead for a start, and then where would you be?
In a box.
That’s the bit I don’t like frankly. That’s why don’t think of it. Because you’d be helpless? Stuffed in a box like that, I mean, you’d be in there for ever. Even taking into account the fact that you’re dead, it isn’t a pleasant thought. Especially if you’re dead, really…
Ask yourself, if I asked you straight off… I’m going to stuff you in this box now, would you rather be alive or dead. Naturally, you prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You’d have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking well, at least I’m not dead! In a minute somebody is going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out.
*knocks on the table*
Hey, you! What’s yer name! Come out of there!
Guildenstern: I think I’m going to kill you.
Cooking and sex.
He’d noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: It fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were really hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination—but at the end of the day they’d settle quite happily for egg and chips, if it was well done and maybe had a slice of tomato.
The Fifth Elephant (Terry Pratchett)
Das neue Tagebuch vom Ei 