My luck is getting worse and worse. Last night, for instance, I was mugged by a quaker.

This stuff tastes awful; I could have made a fortune selling it in my health-food store.

I am two with nature.

The prison psychiatrist asked me if I thought sex was dirty. I told him only when it's done right.

I never considered myself an artist. I aspire to be an artist, but I never thought I had the depth or substance or gift to be an artist. I do think I have some talent, but it doesn't go as far as being an artist.

Take the money and run.

Everybody knows how awful the world is and what a terrible situation it is and each person distorts it in a certain way that enables him to get through. Some people distort it with religious things. Some people distort it with sports, with money, with love, with art, and they all have their own nonsense about what makes it meaningful, and all but nothing makes it meaningful. These things definitely serve a certain function, but in the end they all fail to give life meaning and everyone goes to his grave in a meaningless way.