At first, writing for The New Yorker was very scary to me. I couldn't imagine anything that I would write in that typeface.

I've never made up events, but I've always been a big exaggerator. It's written on my humorist license that I'm allowed to do that.

Cover your glass in France or Germany --even worse, in England - and in the voice of someone who has personally affronted, your host will ask why you're not drinking. 'Oh, I just don't feel like it this morning.' 'Why not?' 'I guess I'm not in the mood?' 'Well, this'll put you in the mood. Here. Drink up.' 'No, really, I'm OK.' 'Just taste it.' 'Actually, I'm sort of...well, I sort of have a problem with it.' 'Then how about half a glass?

Jeremy, Good luck on your first marriage.

You need to give the reader a reason to turn the page. In a diary, you are just yourself. You aren't trying to entertain. You aren't trying to get anyone to turn the page. I have over one hundred and fifty six volumes of my diary and I guarantee you that if you read them, you'd stop and never come back.

If I were president, I would turn the tables and allow the fetus to abort its mother.

Actually I liked that 'Let the Right One In,' that Swedish vampire movie.