BB: Are there any men in? — Bill Bailey

"At parties, sometimes, for a laugh, I introduce myself - people say What do you do? and I say Im Aled Jones, its all gone wrong for me. No, look, Ive still got it! (drunken bawl) IM WALKING THROUGH THE AIIIIIIR, HAAAAAAHAHAHA. Ch. 19, 32:55"

"The national [Welsh] dish, cheese on toast, thats fantastic. "Thats no bother". "Were having a big ambassadorial reception." "All right, Ill get the grill on shall I? You want a bit of chutney on it?" "No, dont go mad Rhodri, its only Fiji." I think though that it has actually hampered Waless cultural diversity, because if you think of the other national dishes, like Ireland - Irish stew, bubbling away for hours on end, during which time poems are written, plays are written, fine linen is crafted, the whimsy is spun; Scotland, you have haggis, many many days it takes to pulverise the eyes, lips and all the toes, every [part] of the animal, the hooves, the shirt, the trousers, the abbatoir workers laundry, everything goes in there, and its bubbling away for days on end under the ground in the lung of a small burrowing animal, during which time electric light is invented, penicillin, a fine legal structure, those little things you lick, press down and they ping back up, Oh, I forgot about them, oh yeah; England, roast beef, roasting away for days on end, during which time poor, defenceless countries around the world are brought under the relentless yoke of imperial oppression; Wales, cheese on toast, "Right...oh, its ready. Shit." Ch. 9, 17:43"

"Aldous Huxley took the drug mescaline and then chronicled his experience in the book The Doors of Perception. Now, I dont actually think thats the first thing he wrote: he probably wrote my brain is melting ten thousand times, but it was the book that the critics latched on to."

"Marijuana? Its harmless really, unless you fashion it into a club and beat somebody over the head with it. Beards (track 12) 5:29"

"Im amazed by how compliant people are in this country. They go into service stations - cathedrals of despair, as I call them - where baseball-capped ghouls of the night lord it over their congealed bean kingdoms, their fried-bread twilights, their neon demi-mondes, tempting you to enter to become them, undead. "Ooh, beans on toast, £18.95, very reasonable. Oh no, Im not going to complain. They probably pump them up from London in special tubes." God, £18.95? If that was the price, for my money, each bean would have to be carried over in a herons beak and laid on an orchid and then placed on a very rare train set and carried all the way to my table on the train set and then pinged off by a tiny little rare vole and it rolls onto a beautiful silk leaf and I eat it with a Fabergé egg. Then youd get your moneys worth. Ch. 16, 26:40"

"Three blokes go into a pub. Well, I say three; could be four or five. Could be nine or ten, doesnt matter. Could have been fifteen, twenty - fifty. Round it up. Hundred. Lets go mad, eh - two-fifty. Tell you what, double it up - five hundred. Thousand! Oh, Ive gone mad! Two thousand! Five thousand! (adopting auctioneer persona) Anyone? Five thousand, six thou, six thousand, ten thousand! Small town in Hertfordshire goes into a pub! Fifteen thousand blokes! Alright, lets go - population of Rotterdam. The Hague. Whole of Northern Holland. Mainland U.K. Lets go all the way to the top - Europe, alright? Whole of Europe goes - I say Europe. Could be Eurasia. Not the band, obviously, thats just two of them. Alright, continents - North America! Plus South America! Plus Antartica - thats just eight blokes in a weather station. Not a good example. Alright, make it a lot simpler, all the blokes on the planet go into the pub, right? And the first bloke goes up to the bar and he says "Ill get these in." What an idiot!"

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."

"yes is a pleasant country... love is a deeper season than reason"

"true lovers in each happening of their hearts live longer than all which and every who"

"What concerns me fundamentaly is a meteoric burlesk melodrama, born of the immemorial adage love will find a way."

"Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flower Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!"

"Unchanged within, to see all changed without, Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. Yet why at others Wanings shouldst thou fret? Then only mightst thou feel a just regret, Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light In selfish forethought of neglect and slight."