I'm an old guy, and I was protesting during the Vietnam War. We killed fifty Asians for every loyal American. Every artist worth a damn in this country was terribly opposed to that war, finally, when it became evident what a fiasco and meaningless butchery it was.

One [television] program was an interminable exploration of the question: can a woman with a low I.Q. be happily married to a man with a high one? The answer seemed to be yes and no.

We are never as modern, as far ahead of the past as we like to think we are.

There was no immunity to cuckoo ideas on Earth.

We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.

She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies.

Suicide is the punctuation mark at the end of many artistic careers