I once read about a guy who lost his arms in a fire. The nurse took pity on him and gave him a hand job. I don't even get that.

I think writers tend to be experience junkies, and I think they also tend to want to be on the outside looking in.

I always tried to learn Greek, but all I got out of it was, "poulaki mou." ["My little chicken."]

His laugh is made if porch swings and lemonade

When people meet me, many times they're very surprised because they expect someone who is kind of wacky with seven piercings and very hip and cool and New York City, and I'm not.

I sit there and think how it isn't fair that I can't drink at all, even a little. I realize I have crammed an entire lifetime of moderate drinking into a decade of hard-core drinking and that is why. I blew my wad.

I just look at her and she creeps me out. She looks like she would eat a baby. Not that she's fat. She just looks hungry in some dangerous way that can't be explained. She's always so nice and friendly. Exactly the disposition of a baby killer.