When I hear the word 'culture', I reach for my checkbook.

The ever-rising cost of living: Someday soon, the corporate technicians will be locking meters on our noses and charging us a royalty on the air we breathe.

There are two kinds of people I cannot abide: bigots and any well-organized ethnic group.

Why do I write? I write to entertain my friends and to exasperate our enemies. To unfold the folded lie, to record to truth of our time, and, of course, to promote esthetic bliss.

An empty man is full of himself.

The night I filled an inside straight: Even a blind hog's gonna root up an acorn once in a while.

Poetry -- even bad poetry -- may be our final hope.