We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing (whatever it is) that glitters on the earth-- we call it life.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

One of the principle qualities of pain is that it demands an explanation.

To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

The words we read and words we write never say exactly what we mean. The people we love are never just as we desire them. The two symbola never perfectly match. Eros is in between.

You remember too much," my mother said to me recently. "Why hold onto all that?" And I said, "where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Under the seams runs the pain.

When I desire you a part of me is gone.

If your way of life is writing, then everything that happens becomes a sentence.

The spectacle is at the same time the mirage of self in the mirror of things.

Love is the language of life and all others are transient epi-phenomena. Like a fish, we are swimming in the ocean of love. We are so busy seeking love that we don’t realize we are swimming in love.

If you want to sacrifice the admiration of many men for the criticism of one, go ahead, get married.

Funny is funny. I dare anyone to look at Tim Conway and Harvey Korman doing the dentist sketch, which is more than 40 years old, and not scream with laughter.

I'm not looking to freak people out - eating rodents or bugs. I don't do that anymore.

Acting is a total physical, emotional sensation.

Who has the right to tell me that I don't deserve this choice?

Modi winning or not winning is not important. I can go home tomorrow & open a tea stall but the nation must not suffer.

Nature also forges man, now a gold man, now a silver man, now a fig man, now a bean man.

As I try to get around with a guitar, a banjo and a suitcase of high heels and dresses, I treasure that little ukulele.