By the time the children go to bed, I am as drained as any mother who has spent her day working, car pooling, building Lego castles and shopping for the precisely correct soccer cleat.

In fact if I see you drinking I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks and call your mom.

Nothing makes me roll my eyes faster than a "Coexist" bumper sticker.

I'm sure there are people who survive tragedy without humor, but I've never met any of them. Nor would I be particularly interested in writing about them if I did meet them.

I smoked pot when I was a teenager because other kids were doing it, but I didn't enjoy it that much.

There is no fundamental truth and there's nothing to be connected to: I just believe that [LSD] makes you feel better.

In a perfect world, probably we'd never yell, we'd just be firm and dispassionate. But of course, everyone yells at their children.