You know, we don't have any decorative sprigs of rosemary; we're not placing little matchstick radishes onto an hors d'oeuvre... The food's gotta taste good. The concept's gotta taste good.
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My own suspicion is that the universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.
I don't think we should speak so much. What if we were singing a song? We split, whilst singing.