What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.

Boy, did he depress me! I don't mean he was a bad guy- he wasn't. But you don't have to be bad guy to depress somebody- you can be a good guy and do it.

But you can't always tell - with somebody's mother, I mean. Mothers are all slightly insane.

After I go out this door, I may only exist in the minds of all my acquaintances…I may be an orange peel.

You can hit my father over the head with a chair and he won't wake up, but my mother, all you have to do to my mother is cough somewhere in Siberia and she'll hear you.

How do you know you're going to do something, untill you do it?

I'd never yell, "Good luck!" at anybody. It sounds terrible, when you think about it.