She is inhumanly alone. And then, all at once, she isn't.

I thought: this is how life is, ridiculous beyond comprehension.

If we can't, as artists, improve on real life, we should put down our pencils and go bake bread.

I have seen women looking at jewelry ads with a misty eye and one hand resting on the heart, and I only know what they're feeling because that's how I read the seed catalogs in January.

One of the very first things I figured out about life...is that it's better to be a hopeful person than a cynical, grumpy one, because you have to live in the same world either way, and if you're hopeful, you have more fun.

We tap our toes to chaste love songs about the silvery moon without recognizing them as hymns to copulation.

Last time I talked to her she didn't sound like herself. She's depressed. It's awful what happens when people run out of money. They start thinking they're no good.