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But [Pooh] couldn't sleep. The more he tried to sleep the more he couldn't. He tried counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps. And that was worse. Because every Heffalump that he counted was making straight for a pot of Pooh's honey, and eating it all. For some minutes he lay there miserably, but when the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump was licking its jaws, and saying to itself, "Very good honey this, I don't know when I've tasted better," Pooh could bear it no longer.
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Terence, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see the rate you drink your beer. But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache. The cow, the old cow, she is dead; It sleeps well the horned head: We poor lads, 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time. Moping, melancholy mad: Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.
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Dream is not that which you see while sleeping it is something that does not let you sleep.
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Speaking of sleeping bags, has anything ever had a less creative name?
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There seems to be a tremendous desire among many people now to know authors and how they work, to know what's autobiographical and what isn't.
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If you want to know someone, just look at who they choose to spend their time with.
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Now, you always know there's going to be some compromise when you're doing something for television, and especially network television.
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You have to jump into the pool before you know whether there's water in it.
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It's a bit of a weird thing to know that (my music) has translated to that many people.
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People have always thought I was "on" something. After a while I began to think they knew something I didn't know! But I don't know, I just love living. And I love doing what I do.
