I have an intense desire to return to the womb. Anybody's.

The artist can't give you an answer that's satisfying to the dreadful reality of your existence. So the best you can do is maybe entertain people and refresh them for an hour-and-a-half.

I don't want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.

For God sakes, this is a woman I was married to for 10 years. We made love. I'd hold her head over the toilet bowl when she threw up.

I've inherited the worst of each parent. I have my father's hypochondria and lack of concentration. I have his amorality. I have everything bad that he had. Then I have my mother's surly, pill-like, complaining, whining attitude.

Some people think about sex all the time; some people think of sex some of the time; and some people never think about sex: they become lawyers.

I cannot say for certain that God does not exist; I think the worst thing that can be said about him is that he's a bit of an underachiever.