I'd hate to have a kid like me.

Calvin: Look, a dead bird! Hobbes: It must've hit a window. Calvin: Isn't it beautiful? It's so delicate. Sighhh... once it's too late, you appreciate what a miracle life is. You realize that nature is ruthless and our existence is very fragile, temporary, and precious. But to go on with your daily affairs, you can't really think about that... which is probably why everyone takes the world for granted and why we act so thoughtlessly. It's very confusing. I suppose it will all make sense when we grow up. Hobbes: No doubt.

Buttons ... check. Dials ... check. Switches ... check. Little colored lights ... check.

Ms. Wormwood: Calvin, can you tell us what Lewis and Clark did? Calvin: No, but I can recite the secret superhero origin of each member of Captain Napalm's Thermonuclear League of Liberty. Ms. Wormwood: See me after class, Calvin. Calvin: [retrospectively] I'm not dumb. I just have a command of thoroughly useless information.

In the right hands, a comic strip attains a beauty and elegance that, really, I would put against any other art.

You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood. What mood is that? Last-minute panic.

It's psychosomatic. You need a lobotomy. I'll get a saw.