I think my imagination and my passions are still firing away, but it's really the body that starts to make up the rules. It's not a major problem; it's just when you get a little older you realize how much your body thanks you when you are good to it.

I bemoan the fact that all my famous friends have places in St. Bart's and I have to go to Montauk.

I personally don’t have the ability to lie about my life, for better or for worse.

Everything I do, I feel is genius. Whether it is or it isn't.

After years of hotels, I'm horribly inept at cleaning up after myself.

I have managed to eke out a good and substantial existence. I'm not shoveling gold bricks or anything, but I do very, very well.

Wouldn't Ponochio II be a great musical, now that he has to face the real world and get a wife... job. Now he wants to be a toy again.