As I ramble through life, whatever be my goal, I will unfortunately always keep my eye upon the doughnut and not upon the whole.

Bruce was a genius, conveniently born on Christmas Eve with, according to my mother, Messiah potential.

A diet counselor once told me that all overweight people are angry with their mothers and channel their frustrations into overeating. So I guess that means all thin people are happy, calm, and have resolved their Oedipal entanglements.

No matter how successful I become as a playwright, my mother would be thrilled to hear me tell her that I'd just lost twenty pounds, gotten married and become a lawyer.

Sometimes I want to clean up my desk and go out and say, respect me, I'm a respectable grown-up, and other times I just want to jump into a paper bag and shake and bake myself to death.

The struggle to be considered a grown-up begins, I believe, shortly after birth.

The thing I longed for as a teenager is now an object of neglect and scorn. I've grown to hate my telephone.