And just as it is with all proper grannies, she ordered me into my pink bunny jammies.

That's the conundrum of cartoon stripping, as opposed to political cartoons. When your anger is the driving force of your drawing hand, failure follows. The anger is OK, but it has to serve the interests of the heart, frankly.

It's not terribly dignified to have anyone seeing one laugh at one's own material.

I ignore Hallmark Holidays. And this comes from a guy who has sold a million Opus greeting cards.

I could draw Bloom County with my nose and pay my cleaning lady to write it, and I'd bet I wouldn't lose 10% of my papers over the next twenty years. Such is the nature of comic-strips. Once established, their half-life is usually more than nuclear waste.

I was never asked to join the Editorial Cartoonists Of America. No fraternity would have me in college, either. I think they know something.

The cartooning was always just an abstraction. It was an income. It was making me famous. It was allowing me to go and do other things that I'd wanted to do.