Love ain't nothing but sex misspelled.

You're a writer. And that's something better than being a millionaire. Because it's something holy.

I'm nothing. Nothing at all without writing. Without truth, my truth, the only truth I know, it's all a gambol in the pasture without rhythm or sense.

You must never be afraid to go there.

Repent, Harlequin," said the Ticktock Man. "Get stuffed," the Harlequin replied.

Posing the question: does the god of love use underarm deodorant, vaginal spray and fluoride toothpaste?

The real story of our times is seldom told in the horse-puckey-filled memoirs of dopey, self-serving presidents or generals, but in the outrageous, demented lives of guys like Lenny Bruce, Giordano Bruno, Scott Fitzgerald - and Paul Krassner. The burrs under society's saddle. The pains in the ass.