The ability to take pleasure in one's life is a skill and is a kind of intelligence.

Narcissism and self-deception are survival mechanisms without which many of us might just jump off a bridge.

Some people will of course accuse me of misanthropy and cynicism. I can't celebrate humanity but I'm not out to indict it either. I just want to expose certain truths.

A palindrome is a word or pattern that instead of developing in different directions it folds in on itself so that the beginning and end mirror each other, that they are the same.

When I want to show the kind of meanness people are capable of, to make it believable I find I have to tone it down. It's in real life that people are over the top.

So far, at least, I haven't found a way to tell my kind of stories without making them both sad and funny.

Usually the audience has no idea that the censored version of whatever movie they're watching isn't the original.

Casting is everything. If you get the right people they make you look good.

Part of it has to do with this business of being approached in public. I have a distinctive look - it's partly the glasses I wear - and people seem to remember me once they've seen me.

And that's just what I'm saying. I would never want to be like certain people, who change the way they dress, go out in disguise, wear a big floppy hat and dark shades. I would hate that.

In particular, people have trouble understanding where I stand in relation to my characters, and very often this gets reduced to me making vicious fun of them.

My level of excitement is above cricket proportions

Endure the times for a better tomorrow.

The pinecone is a fearsome tool of destruction!-Bacchus

What gunpowder did for war the printing press has done for the mind.

Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.

1 billion people are permanently and seriously malnourished. Every five seconds, a child dies.

Belief is such a powerful thing - but because it is, it can also be very destructive and it's very easily manipulated.

The tide tarrieth no man.

All I've ever really done is page 3 in The Sun, and not every man reads that.

How can I wear the harness of toil And sweat at the daily round, While in my soul forever The drums of Pictdom sound?