Love is like a roller coaster. When it's good, you don't want to stop and when it's not... you want to throw up.

It must be that people who read go on more macrocosmic and microcosmic trips – biblical god trips, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Ulysses, Finnegan’s Wake trips. Non-readers, what do they get? (They get the munchies.)

After a good night sleep, I wake up the next day, and I say, 'Come on, Tea Party, let’s get it on.'

Love is like a roller coaster. When it's good, you don't want to stop and when it's not... you want to throw up.

Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and the old buzzard won't be hanging around, underfoot, all weekend.

All I'm looking for is a guy who'll do what I want, when I want, for as long as I want, and then go away. Or wait nearby, like a Dust Buster, charged up and ready when needed.

Nobody supports me at the expense of his own adventure. Then I get bitter: I am not loved enough to be supported. That I am not a burden has to compensate for the sad envy when I look at women loved enough to be supported. Even now China wraps double binds around my feet.