The art of life is to deal with one's problems as they arise; rather than destoy your spirit by worrying about them too far in advance.

Excuse me?" I said, palms down on the Formica tabletop. "Coffee? I thought we came here for pie." "I don't eat the kind of pie they serve here." I felt a flash of heat go through my stomach. I knew firsthand the kind of pie Ranger liked.

Certainly ordinary language has no claim to be the last word, if there is such a thing.

I was not offended, my love. An insult is like a drink; it affects one only if accepted. And pride is too heavy baggage for my journey...

Written By Robert A. Heinlein

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