The world is too serious. To get mad at a work of art-because maybe somebody, somewhere is blowing his stack over what I've done-is like getting mad at a hot fudge sundae.

His mother understood my illness immediately, that it was my world rather than myself that was diseased.

Plato says that the unexamined life is not worth living. But what if the examined life turns out to be a clunker as well?

Characters paralyzed by the meaninglessness of modern life still have to drink water from time to time.

My soul seemed as foul as smoke from burning cat fur.

Children get smashed for hours on some strictly limited aspect of the Great Big Everything, the Universe, such as water or snow or mud or colors or rocks.

Men are jerks. Women are psychotic.