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.

So let me get this straight. You find yourself in the kitchen. You see an éclair in the receptacle... and you think to yourself: "What the hell, I'll just eat some trash."

The big advantage of a book is that it's very easy to rewind. Close it and you're right back at the beginning.

Once you start doing only what you've already proven you can do, you're on the road to death.

Writer's block is a phony, made up, BS excuse for not doing your work.

Life is truly a ride. We're all strapped in and no one can stop it.... I think that the most you can hope for at the end of life is that your hair's messed, you're out of breath, and you didn't throw up.

I think it's funny to be delicate with subjects that are explosive.