I knew if I waited around long enough something like this would happen.

Besides, do any of us understand what we are doing? If we did, would we ever do it?

To endure the pain of living, we all drug ourselves more or less with gin, with literature, with superstitions, with romance, with idealism, political, sentimental, and moral, with every possible preparation of that universal hashish: imagination.

The trouble with the media is that it seems unable to distinguish between the end of the world and a bicycle accident.

I hate performers who debase great works of art; I long for their annihilation.

Marry Ann; and at the end of a week you'll find no more inspiration in her than in a plate of muffins.

It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid.