I was sick of wanting money. I was sick of being without a goal.

Is that all time is - our perception of how quickly it does or does not pass?

Clowns drink to blot out the ravages of terrifying children for a living.

A bland smile is like a green light at an intersection, it feels good when you get one, but you forget it the moment you're past it.

A few years ago it dawned on me that everybody past a certain age ... pretty much constantly dreams of being able to escape from their lives. They don't want to be who they are any more. They want out. This list includes Thurston Howell the Third, Ann-Margret, the cat members of Rent, Václav Havel, space shuttle astronauts and Snuffleupagus. It's universal.

Being asked what animal you'd like to be is a trick question; you're already an animal.

But I guess the nice thing about driving a car is that the physical act of driving itself occupies a good chunk of brain cells that otherwise would be giving you trouble overloading your thinking. New scenery continually erases what came before; memory is lost, shuffled, relabeled and forgotten. Gum is chewed; buttons are pushed; windows are lowered and opened. A fast moving car is the only place where you're legally allowed to not deal with your problems. It's enforced meditation and this is good.