I really can't be expected to drop everything and count sheep, at my age. I hate sheep. Untender it may be in me, but all my life I've hated sheep. It amounts to a phobia, the way I hate them. I can tell the minute there's one in the room. They needn't think that I am going to lie here in the dark and count their unpleasant little faces for them; I wouldn't do it if I didn't fall asleep again until the middle of next August. Suppose they never get counted-- what's the worst that can happen? If the number of imaginary sheep in this world remains a matter of guesswork, who is the richer or poorer for it? No sir; I'm not their scorekeeper. Let them count themselves, if they're so crazy mad after mathematics. Let them do their own dirty work. Coming around here, at this time of day, asking me to count them! And not even real sheep, at that.
-- Dorothy Parker, The Little Hours
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