In reality, everyone is good in bed. Close eyes. Shutdown brain. Pause as necessary. Restart brain. Open eyes. What's there to not be good at? Bed is the one place where laziness is rewarded.

In the time honored tradition of email, just ignore the question.

Internet mailing lists are like Fox television shows. They have really cool previews, and they get you all excited about them, but they just don't live up to their promises.

In reality, everyone is good in bed. Close eyes. Shutdown brain. Pause as necessary. Restart brain. Open eyes. What's there to not be good at? Bed is the one place where laziness is rewarded.

One of the most adventurous things left us is to go to bed. For no one can lay a hand on our dreams.

I have a toy giraffe on my bed. I've got photographs over my desk as well as a mask of a giraffe in my kitchen. I am totally hooked.

I was stuck at home in bed with me and got more and more involved with the Internet. I used it to keep in contact with friends and to make sure I was up to date with everything that was going on in the world.

This is the very womb and bed of enormity.

If kids like a picture book, they're going to read it at least 50 times. Read anything that often, and even minor imperfections start to feel like gravel in the bed.

The best thing about lying in bed late is that you learn to distinguish between first things and trivia, for whatever presses on you has to prove its importance before it makes you move.

I'm a 7 o'clock act. My people want to go to a show, a dinner and then go home and go to bed.

In so many interviews, they bring up the sexual aspect of the record. I've had some journalists say it sounds like I'm lying down in bed singing with a microphone. It gets so old!

Once, the parental bed collapsed because all the children sat on it at once.

I got sick and tired of my lady wearing ugly underwear to bed, so I turned to the Internet.

I miss Saturday morning, rolling out of bed, not shaving, getting into my car with my girls, driving to the supermarket, squeezing the fruit, getting my car washed, taking walks.

Theses officers were good friends, so it must have been a terrible argument, because the one who played chess with my father was so angry that he walked over to the dentist's house and got the dentist out of bed and shot him.

What happens when the guy who runs the reactor gets out of bed wrong or decides, for some reason, that he wants to override his instruction sheet some afternoon?

Mom and Dad would stay in bed on Sunday morning, but the kids would have to go to church.

I could be with a woman in a bed, for weeks even, and it would seem to me like three seconds. Or 300 years.

Well I was an asthmatic child. So that for most of my childhood I was in bed. Bedridden.

But for the first time in many years, I get to sleep in my own bed every night. I haven't done that, literally, in years. It seems like such a small thing, but it is so nice.

When I was playing I felt tired all the time. My recovery period was a lot longer than the other players. They'd be ok after an hour - I'd have to stay in bed till the next session.

Never get out of bed before noon.

This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.

So I'm more at home with my backpack, sleeping in a hotel room or on a bus or on an airplane, than I am necessarily on a bed. It's weird being here. It feels like I'm standing next to my real life.

Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table.

A woman should say: "Have I made him happy? Is he satisfied? Does he love me more than he loved me before? Is he likely to go to bed with another woman?" If he does, then it's the wife's fault because she is not trying to make him happy.

Marriage is like life - it is a field of battle, not a bed of roses.

The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.

Whoever thinks of going to bed before twelve o'clock is a scoundrel.

I returned to upstate NY where I just laid in bed for days with a fever that just wouldn't go away. After more of this, I grew increasingly sure that this was not simply the flu!

To my embarrassment I was born in bed with a lady.

With me it is exceptionally true that the Presidency is no bed of roses.

I pushed myself way too hard during the first year of Veronica Mars and I got moody and run-down. Now I'll go to bed early instead of going out with friends. It's not always the most fun option, but I know I need at least eight hours of sleep to feel balanced.

In our story logic which we're making up, if we're saying he's alive, then like a quadriplegic who's in bed he can move his head and shoulders, but he can't move his arms. If he could just turn on that power to his legs and arms, the nerves could get through and he could walk.

Now when I came to go up to operations, I went down to this patient's room and got down on my knees at the foot of the bed and earnestly asked the Lord to help us and to help me.

My bed is actually two king beds put together.

I spent every night until four in the morning on my dissertation, until I came to the point when I could not write another word, not even the next letter. I went to bed. Eight o'clock the next morning I was up writing again.

There are certain nights you and your image just aren't in the same bed.

I'm definitely a messy person... I know where everything is but I just can't organize. I don't make lists and find scripts on the laundry machine, and under my bed, or in the bathroom, kitchen. It's bad, I really need to take control.

I go home by noon, and I'm in bed by 6 p.m. I get up at 1 and do it again.

When I was a kid, I used to imagine animals running under my bed. I told my dad, and he solved the problem quickly. He cut the legs off the bed.

I protest that if some great Power would agree to make me always think what is true and do what is right, on condition of being turned into a sort of clock and would up every morning before I got out of bed, I should instantly close with the offer.

Don't stay in bed, unless you can make money in bed.

I even smoke in bed. Imagine smoking a cigar in bed, reading a book. Next to your bed, there's a cigar table with a special cigar ashtray, and your wife is reading a book on how to save the environment.

I have lived and slept in the same bed with English countesses and Prussian farm women... no woman has excited passions among women more than I have.

Nobody minded what you did in bed or what you said about God, a very civilized attitude in 1948.

I was seeing everything through pain. I would roll out of bed and do my exercises. I had to do that to work out the remainder of the pain pills. I would drink coffee and go to the set and plunge myself so far into my work.

To carry care to bed is to sleep with a pack on your back.