Food is one of my favourite things. Though I certainly know lots of people who happen to be happily married who don't have food play the role in it that it plays in my life. And I don't know how they do it, and frankly I feel so bad for them because I just love food and one of my favourite things is asking, "What do we want for dinner? What do we feel like eating?" That wonderful negotiation that goes on several times a week about what "we" feel like.

I am not a new journalist, whatever that is. I just sit here at the typewriter and bang away at the old forms.

I’m really not interested in women as victims. Look at me, I get the last laugh ‘cause I get to be funny about it.

The big cities of America are becoming Third World countries.

Washington is a city of locker-room boys, and all the old, outmoded notions apply: men and women are ushered to separate rooms after dinner, sex is dirty, and they are still serving onion-soup dip.

New Orleans is one of the two most ingrown, self-obsessed little cities in the United States. (The other is San Francisco.)

In my sex fantasy, nobody ever loves me for my mind.