I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone.

Nobody can be exactly like me. Sometimes even I have trouble doing it.

(On seeing a former lover for the first time in years) I thought I told you to wait in the car.

The less I behave like Whistler's mother the night before, the more I look like her the morning after.

I'm the foe of moderation, the champion of excess.

There is less in this than meets the eye.

I'll come and make love to you at five o'clock. If I'm late, start without me.