I have a nice bookshelf in my office, but not my house. I'm crass, but not that crass.

Have you ever noticed that the waiter who takes your order is not the one who brings your food anymore? What is THAT about? And which waiter are you tipping, anyway? I think next time I go to a restaurant I'll just say, "Oh, sorry, I only eat the food. The guy who pays the bill will be along shortly."

I mean, she's giving and caring and genuinely concerned about the welfare of others. I can't be with someone like that.

Why is McDonalds still counting? How insecure is this company? 40 million, 80 billion million jillion killion tillion... who cares? Is anyone really impressed by that any more? Ooh, 89 billion sold? All right, I'll have one! I'm satisfied! I'd like to tell the CEO of McDonalds, "Look. We all get it, okay? You've sold a lot of hamburgers. Whatever the number is, just put up a sign, 'McDonalds: We're Doing Very Well.' We are tired of hearing about every goddamn one of them."

What is this obsession people have with books? They put them in their houses like they're trophies. What do you need it for after you read it?

Most people, you do a TV series, it ends three, four, five years later; it's a relic.

Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year has gone by and how little we've grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake, we know it's not to be, that for the rest of our sad, wretched pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably; happy birthday? No such thing.