One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people.

Hatred is the air I breathe. It permeates every cell in my body.

When I write, I strain with every wizened fibre of my weathered frame to analyze every possible angle of any given subject.

Negative opinions about me don't faze me unless I respect the person giving the opinion, which is rare. And if it's someone I respect, I usually take heed of what they're saying. But if I don't respect them, which I usually don't, what's the point?

What's absolutely impossible to prove is the idea of innate and everlasting equality.

Many of the racial problems in America are caused by the fact that people are innately tribal, and politicians know how to exploit that biological fact.

I prefer for a woman's most private of areas to have as much hair as Carlos Santana's entire band, head to toe, circa 1972.