I'm no longer a prisoner of my fears. Which really just means I'm using real butter.

Most comics worship music on some level. It's more rock-n-roll to get up there for an hour and make people laugh.

Sometimes people change their minds, sometimes they meet someone else, sometimes they get sober, and sometimes he was just a jerk who you're lucky to be rid of.

The only reason he can miss you is because he’s choosing, every day, not to be with you.

A good indication that it's not is if you're only staying with What's His Name because you're scared.

If I had butterscotch pants and a cheetah sweater... I'd be just fine.

Let's start with this statistic: You are delicious. Be brave, my sweet. I know you can get lonely. I know you can crave companionship and sex and love so badly that it physically hurts. But I truly believe that the only way you can find out that there's something better out there is to first believe there's something better out there. What other choice is there?