If geniuses can sometimes make mistakes, cannot the rest of us on occasion be geniuses?

I was recently asked what it takes to become a writer. Three things, I answered: first, one must cultivate incompetence at almost every other form of profitable work. This must be accompanied, second, by a haughty contempt for all the forms of work that one has established one cannot do. To these two must be joined, third, the nuttiness to believe that other people can be made to care about your opinions and views and be charmed by the way you state them. Incompetence, contempt, lunacy—once you have these in place, you are set to go.

I know how many days in which I have just answered e-mail, had three phone calls and a two hour lunch. Poof, gone. They are not infrequent.

A cat is the only domestic animal I know who toilet trains itself and does a damned impressive job of it.

I just know so many people who have six or seven foreign languages and have read everything and have musical training and they are still dorks

I should prefer to die laughing, and, on more than one occasion, thought I might.

A writer can get into a vast deal of trouble through misquotation. If you ever want to receive lots of mail, I recommend you get a Shakespeare quote wrong in a magazine or newspaper.