Tom Robbins Quotes on Humor
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There are only two mantras... yum and yuk. Mine is yum.'
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I sense that novel of my dreams is in the Remington SL3 - although it writes much faster than I can spell.
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Her surname resembled a line from an optometrist's examination chart.
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They'd be no threat to me. I have a black belt in Haiku. And a black vest in the cleaners.
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She lunched on papaya poo poo or mango mu mu or some other fruity foo foo bursting with overripe tropican vowels.
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This stuff's so fine Julius Caesar called for it with his dying breath. 'A toot, Brutus,' is what he said.
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Something has got to hold it together. I'm saying my prayers to Elmer, the Greek god of glue.
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A rabbi's dog could score pork chops in the streets of Tel Aviv easier than Bernard could acquire tequila in King County Jail.
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Who knows how to make love stay? Tell love you are going to the Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay. Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a mustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.
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A sense of humor, properly developed, is superior to any religion so far devised.
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A lot of progress was being made there at MIT. Those guys had molecules jumping through hoops like poodles in a circus.
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Most snoring is composed by Beethoven or Wagner, although a few times Wiggs had heard heavy metal rock performed on the somnambulate bassoon.
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It couldn't have been Pan's output alone because Alobar's testicles were as flat and juiceless as trampled grapes.
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People of zee wurl, Relax!
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'In the end, we should simply imagine a joke; a long joke that's being continually retold in an accent too thick and too strange to ever be completely understood. Life is that joke. The soul is its punchline.'
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Suppose the neutral angels were able to talk to Yahweh and Lucifer- God and Satan, to use their popular titles- into settling out of court. What would be the terms of the compromise? Specifically, how would they divide the assets of their earthly kingdom? Would God be satisfied to take loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while allowing Satan to have the redeye Gravy, eighteen ounce New York steak, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all-night, no-holds-barred, nasty 'can't-get-enough-of-you' hot-as-hell fucks?
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'Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory'