Dear God. What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.
I’m sorry I don’t have a photographic memory, but my brain is already too busy being awesome.
You’re a woman with a brain and reasonable ability. Stop whining and find something to do.
In the walls of our hearts and brains, danger waits. There are holes in the floor of the mind.
All of our brains are slowly dying. You’re not unique.
Your brain is a miracle, but it’s not efficient. There’s a maze inside everyone’s head, a labyrinth of missed connections and untapped potential. But now, suddenly, I had access to every single brain cell.
With all due respect, your tiny brain is a lot safer without my problems inside it.
Our brains are just computers that make our life stories make sense.
I don’t know why my body is so intent on sabotaging my brain, when my brain is perfectly capable of sabotaging itself.
Empathy can poison your brain.
A brain capable of error. That’s what it means to have reached perfection.
You know that that book can send you back, right? So you want to scramble my brain until I give it to you. Well think again! The only person who scrambles my brain, pal, is me, by doing the fun stuff, like drinking glue, and sniffing booze!
