There was once a man who wanted to develop his own private motto,
which he wanted to be "it does no good to know-what-you're-doing if the knowing, no pleasure gives."
(It probably remains salubrious for men that "wants" so infrequently inflict any real harm.)

And a reader writes:
"I do not enjoy being individually made-fun-of -- if you don't specifically single me out!"

To those with a wider view:
Simply being alive is not stressful -- thinking about it is.

And being more specific:
The sound of traffic is not what's stressful,
but rather your believing that you have valid preferences in the passing vehicles.

Bumpers don't kill people -- hanging onto them does.

The elder monk told a younger one:
"The tenseness you continue to experience is caused by your conversing with fools."
And the neophyte replied: "But I haven't been talking to anyone."
To which the elder responded with shoulders shrugged and palms upturned in the international sign of: "So?"

Why doesn't the fact that humans do not become properly revered and honored until they're dead
give you some hint regarding the ideas you respect?

One man secretly drilled a peephole in the wall between his shower and that of his best friend...who just happened to be his mind...and who, as it turned out, turned out not to be his best bud after all.

For their Saturday Night Vapors Service, the head monk delivered the following message to the mystical flock:
"If your present thinking can get you horny and aroused, then be prepared to tie down your dick with bailing wire when you get a full blast of mentally-stripped consciousness."