I have a theory that children remember two things-when you weren't there and when they threw up.

Suddenly, one day, there was this thing called parenting. Parenting was serious. Parenting was fierce. Parenting was solemn. Parenting was a participle, like going and doing and crusading and worrying.

I look as young as a person can look given how old I am.

It's much easier to get over someone if you can delude yourself into thinking you never really cared that much.

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.

Another thing you end up doing when you get older, is you spend so much time sort of trying desperately to keep from just looking just a little older. You're just constantly putting stuff on your face and having things removed from yourself and opening up copies of "Vogue" so that you can find new ways to throw whatever money you've managed to save into the arms of some doctor who has just come up with a new way of lasering your face that feels like electroshock and all these things.

Summer bachelors, like summer breezes, are never as cool as they pretend to be.