I have Social Disease. I have to go out every night. If I stay home one night I start spreading rumours to my dogs.

I have a disease; I see language.

It is the evening that questions thus from within me.

There is something compulsive about a telephone. The gadget-ridden man of our age loves it, loathes it, and is afraid of it. But he always treats it with respect, even when he is drunk. The telephone is a fetish.

The telephone becomes an instrument of torture in the demonic hands of a beloved who doesn't call.

If the thing bites down much harder I might wig out and demand beer... stay away from the phone, watch the red arrow... this typewriter is keeping me on my rails, without it I'd be completely adrift and weird.

I love a friendly chat and a friendly glass of wine during the evening - the time they call, for some accountable reason, 'between dog and wolf'.

For many people, their compulsive phone use papers over a void created by a lack of a well-developed leisure life. Reducing the easy distraction without also filling the void can make life unpleasantly stale.

Treat a disease with drunkenness, laughter, and sport. If you find any trace of it after that, give it to me.

The trouble is that I am crazy and the room, ah, my own room drinks me.

To talk of diseases is a sort of Arabian Nights entertainment.

For many people, their compulsive phone use papers over a void created by a lack of a well-developed leisure life.

a few of the threats that keep me up at night.

Its getting late early