I can’t say that I love writing, but I do love the satisfaction that it gives me.
All this angst, all this stuff we all feel, is just tied to making art. It’s so ancient.
If all the world’s a stage, I want to operate the trap door.
If all the students who slept through lectures were laid end to end, they’d all be a lot more comfortable. If all the world’s a stage, I want to operate the trap door.
I’m not very pious about anything, fortunately, but I’m skewering myself first. I’m skewering things that I care about and things that are important to me and then just my own foibles.
If New York is the City That Never Sleeps, then Los Angeles is the City That’s Always Passed Out on the Couch.
I don’t know exactly what a black Chinese restaurant would be, but I would sure love to see one.
There’s this line between propriety and how we really speak and how we really think. And I’m just trying to have fun with that stuff.
I don’t try to be satirical. I just try to get what’s in my head on the page. And that part is hard for me to do. It takes a long, long time to make it poetic, somewhat essayistic.
I think everybody focuses on race, but it’s about a ton of things, and I just see these things as all interrelated and all interwoven in a weird way.