I just realized that I never look at a painting and ask, 'Is this painting fictional or non-fictional?' It’s just a painting.

I guess the things I have always loved are from people who were just being themselves. They were doing these things because they couldn't do it any other way. It was for them.

[He Stopped Loving Her Today] is all about the experience of being alive and the thought process of consciousness, and then you have these polemical essay-type things going on for a couple decades now. Some of these music books are where you're going to see an anecdote of a person behaving without some kind of commentary.

The only hope we have are our bodies. We're all trapped in them and we all hate them, and it's this reason why we're comic and not tragic.

We're artists. We cry out to be exploited on some level. Write a dissertation on my work. Write a biography about me.

I have no interest in being a trained ballerina. People should dance how they want to dance. I want to be the funky chicken.

I think a pretty good modus operandi is to believe that everything we know is wrong. The stomach will be the key to depression or consciousness or we'll realize ants are smarter than people.