I think it's my job or the artist's job, to try and find some solution or some reason to accept things. But given the grimmest reality, I feel the grimmest facts are the real facts, the true facts: that you're born, you die, you suffer, it's to no purpose, and you're gone forever, ever, ever, and that's it.

Money is not everything, but it is better than having one's health.

What a world. It could be so wonderful if it wasn't for certain people.

I had a mad impulse to throw you down on the lunar surface and commit interstellar perversion with you.

I’m going to kill myself. I should go to Paris and jump off the Eiffel Tower. I’ll be dead. you know, in fact, if I get the Concorde, I could be dead three hours earlier, which would be perfect. Or wait a minute. It -- with the time change, I could be alive for six hours in New York but dead three hours in Paris. I could get things done, and I could also be dead.

I have a hyper-active imagination, my mind tends to jump around a little, and I have some trouble between fantasy and reality.

All things are possible, except skiing through a revolving door.