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Regardless of how tough you think you are, regardless of how good you think your chin is, we're all only one connected punch away from being hurt, and you've just got to hope your chin holds up and your body holds up.

Because I have work to care about, it is possible that I may be less difficult to get along with than other women when the double chins start to form.

The double chin's not good for the red carpet.

People in jobs that they hate must be worn out.

I particularly felt that my job in management was safe from the incursion of machines with friendly faces painted on the front of their heads, or whatever you call the metal constructions atop their shoulders, if those are indeed shoulders.

As industry's tycoons of the Thirties got their wings clipped, labor's leaders in the Eighties are getting their wings clipped. Not because of any class-related antagonism, but because any excess, ultimately, is its own undoing.

Workers insist that they are not disgruntled. They are very gruntled.

People are working harder and harder than ever before and barely staying in place.

I've got more chins than a San Francisco phonebook.

If the head man in a company is not working 12 hours a day, doing things, taking risks, but also standing with his people in the trenches at the most difficult of times, then the company loses something.