Maybe it's our sins that give God consolation when he finally has to give us cancer.

Going to work just looked crazy. Eating another meal, ever, made about as much sense as planting tulip bulbs in the shadow of a falling atom bomb.

If anything I try to write something that would be more difficult to film. I tend to see film as competition and would like instead to do what books do best.

I am the child of a lunatic. Not a child of God.

When you don't share your problems, you resent hearing the problems of other people.

I've been choking to death for years. By now this should be easy.

Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?