The most important lesson in the writing trade is that any manuscript is improved if you cut away the fat.
Robert A. HeinleinRead
Death isn't funny." "Then why are there so many jokes about death? Jill, with us — us humans — death is so sad that we must laugh at it.
Interpretation
Humans cope with the sadness of death by making jokes about it.
This quote highlights the paradox of human nature regarding death, suggesting that while death is a profoundly sorrowful experience, people often resort to humor as a coping mechanism. The interplay between laughter and sadness illustrates our struggle to make sense of mortality and the inevitability of loss, prompting us to find levity even in the darkest of circumstances.
In practice
A comedian referencing this quote at a stand-up show about dealing with loss.
The most important lesson in the writing trade is that any manuscript is improved if you cut away the fat.
An armed society is a polite society.
Democracy is a poor system of government at best; the only thing that can honestly be said in its favor is that it is eight times as good as any other method the human race has ever tried.
Long human words (the longer the better) were easy, unmistakable, and rarely changed their meanings . . . but short words were slippery, unpredictable, changing their meanings without any pattern.
Progress is made by lazy men looking for easier ways to do things.
When a place gets crowded enough to require ID's, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere. The best thing about space travel is that it made it possible to go elsewhere.
The car suddenly veered off the road and we came to a sliding halt in the gravel. I was hurled against the dashboard. My attorney was slumped over the wheel. “What’s wrong?” I yelled. “We can’t stop here. This is bat country!
Well, if I called the wrong number, why did you answer the phone?
Dieting makes me want to murder everyone around me.
Humorists can never start to take themselves seriously. It's literary suicide.
A politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man.
That evening I rode downtown on an unaccountably empty bus, sitting in the last row. At the front I saw a thin cloud of smoke rising around the driver’s head. ‘Hey, bus driver,’ I said. ‘Can I smoke?’ ‘May I,’ said the bus driver. ‘I love you,’ I said.
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