In no social institution is the codified ritual of behavior more rigid than in funerals. Imagine the indignation if the minister altered his sermon or experimented with facial expression. Consider the shock if, at the funeral parlors, any chairs were used but those little folding yellow torture chairs with the hard seats. No, dying, a man may be loved, hated, mourned, missed; but once dead he becomes the chief ornament of a complicated and formal social celebration. Tortilla Flat

Certainty is the enemy of growth. The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A F*Ck

What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. Ulysses

You ain't worth a greased lack pin to ram you into hell. Of Mice and Men