All persons, living and dead, are purely coincidental.

I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply, "The Beatles did."

There is no way a beautiful woman can live up to what she looks like for any appreciable length of time.

It used to be said of a man who had suffered a catastrophic setback in his line of work that he had been handed his head on a platter. We are being handed our heads with tweezers now.

If you really want to hurt your parents, and you don’t have nerve enough to be a homosexual, the least you can do is go into the arts.

You want to know why I don’t have AIDS, why I'm not HIV-positive like so many other people? I don’t fuck around. It’s as simple as that.

If your brains were dynamite, there wouldn’t be enough to blow your hat off.

Those artsy-fartsy twerps next door create living, breathing, three-dimensional characters with ink on paper. [...] As though the planet weren’t already dying because it has three billion too many living, breathing, three-dimensional characters.