As bad a dresser as I am, anything beats being judged by my character.
I’d always thought that I understood this, but lately I realize that what I call “understanding” is basically just fantasizing.
This was the consequence of seeing too much and understanding the horrible truth: No one is safe. The world is not manageable.
The difference between the first time I read something and the tenth time I read something is generally pretty profound. Even if the script is the same, just the way that I read it is different.
I had to wrestle daily with both my inadequacy and my uncontrollable jealousy. I didn’t want to kill her, but hoped someone else might do the job for me.
If I were president, I would turn the tables and allow the fetus to abort its mother.
I don’t worry about being exposed. When I’m writing about myself I think about myself as a character. There is a ton of stuff going on in my life that I don’t write about. If I need to write that stuff down, I write about myself in my diary.
The things I’ve bought from strangers in the dark would curl your hair.
I don’t like being left to my own thoughts.
It’s unrealistic to live your life within such strict parameters.
I always used to reach for the cigarette when the phone rang, and I figured nobody would ever call me in Tokyo. The time difference is so profound it’s, like, already September in Tokyo, and I figured nobody would be able to work it out.
I don’t think my life is more interesting than anybody else’s.
On one tour, I was collecting stories about pet monkeys. You’d be surprised how many people have stories about monkeys. The problem is, most monkey stories end tragically.
I like listening to books as well, as that way you can iron at the same time.
I don’t really do very well when I’m sent somewhere. A lot of magazines want to send you somewhere to do something. They want you to stow away on a ship, or something like that.
My sister Tiffany told me years ago, ‘You can never write about me.’ Then she called six months ago and said she wanted to be in a story. She was worried people thought I didn’t like her.
I’ve never gone on Facebook and am not sure I understand it. The same goes for Twitter. I have someone sending tweets and pretending to be me, but I don’t know why.
When you read comic material and people aren’t laughing how do you know they’re listening.
To say that a humorist exaggerates to get big laughs, I don’t see how that’s big news.
Because I’ve always been a fairly nervous person.