Am I the only one who has noticed that the British novelist John Mortimer, known for his urbanity, created a detective whose name, basically, is Rump Hole?

Asking Alcoholics Anonymous if you need Alcoholics Anonymous is like asking your kid if you need a puppy.

Doctors tend to be profoundly sure of themselves, even when they have no idea what they're talking about.

First off, I want to make it clear that, even though I am a member of the liberal media, and that liberals, in general, would like you to take a relaxing, cross-country excursion in a 1963 Chevy Corvair, if you get my drift, I, personally, have no animosity whatsoever toward you. I am officially neutral, as befitting a Washington Post journalist. (Interviewing Ralph Nader)

History has shown us that things seldom turn out as poorly as the losers fear. For example, when Mussolini was elected prime minister of Italy, those who voted against him feared he would become a ruthless, pompous tyrant, loot the treasury, get really fat and bring the country into a suicidal alliance with the darkest forces of mankind. Well, it turns out he stayed pretty trim, as can be seen by those photos of him hanging upside down in the street as people danced and sang.

I disagree with those who suggest that we permanently close down the U.S. mail on the grounds that it can kill you. That is sheer hysteria. I think we should permanently close down the U.S. mail on the grounds that it has been making us sick for quite a while.

If you are mentally confused, you might not realize you are mentally confused. That is the nature of mental confusion. You could be mentally confused right now.

In writing, hard and fast rules are not in general favored by me. However, by and large it would seem to me that most concepts are more forcefully expressed when the verb has been preceded by the noun taking the action that is being done. Also, participles are best to be avoided.

[I]t involves the use of an umlaut, which makes everything sound worse than it is. Try it. Settle a few umlauts atop the most benign thing you can imagine, and watch what happens: Sänta Cläus. The jolly patron of Nazi children.

Nitrous oxide is called laughing gas, though I never understood why. It never made me laugh. It was like sex: waaaay too intense to make you laugh, but hardly unenjoyable.

The editors at big, gray newspapers like The New York Times try mightily to maintain a sense of decorum and stiff formality, even at the risk of sounding hopelessly fuddy-duddy, such as by referring to Snoop Doggy Dogg as "Mr. Dogg."

The ordinary person is like an ordinary eighteenth-century piece of farm equipment -- say, a wheelbarrow. He operates without much self-awareness. He will know he is in need of repair when his wheel falls off. But the hypochondriac is like a wheelbarrow designed by Microsoft. He has constant two-way communication between his body and himself. He is trying to perform ordinary tasks, such as lumbering up a hill with a load of fertilizer, when suddenly an icon flashes to tell him that rust has been detected on the starboard cotter pin.

Today, if a woman chooses not to have sex with her husband, she is no longer required to come up with an excuse. She can simply cut off his penis.