I'd call him a sadistic, hippophilic necrophile, but that would be beating a dead horse.

I'm really impotent against the overwhelming bleakness of the universe and the only thing I can do is my little gift [filmmaking] and do it the best I can, [...] which is cold comfort.

I don't mind dying... as long as I don't have to be there when it happens.

I feel about New York as a child whose father is a bank robber. Not perfect, but I still love him.

I don't get depressed; I grow a tumor instead.

I should have known something was wrong with my first wife. When I brought her home to meet my parents, they approved of her.

What is so fascinating about sitting around watching a bunch of pituitary cases stuff a ball through a hoop?