I always imagined my little cartoons on plates for some reason.

Even under the best of circumstances - in twenty-first century America at least - caring for elderly parents ain't no place for sissies.

I had the impression in art school that cartooning was thought of as a lesser art than painting because cartoons are reproduced, so the "work" is not the single thing like a painting, but instead is the reproduced image.

You could pray all you want that you have a massive stroke while you're working and die, but possibly that won't happen, and you'll be in this bed, and somebody's going to have to clean you up.

My parents were extremely reluctant. When my father was clearly dying, my mother refused to acknowledge it.

Theres something about most phobias where theres a tiny, tiny corner where you think this really actually could happen.

My life is so boring that your brains are going to melt and come out of your eyes.