I think maybe to survive, I mean to just get through the day - I'm not saying that everything is hilariously funny.

I putter. I nurse old grudges. I fold origami while nursing old grudges. I think about the past. I wonder if there’s any grudges I should start.

I gave up on ever trying to get 'my way.' I barely knew it existed.

My parents were extremely reluctant. When my father was clearly dying, my mother refused to acknowledge it.

I used to love to draw things that made me laugh or made friends laugh. When I was 13 or 14, I started thinking, This is what I like to do more than anything else.

The fact that cartoons are reproduced doesn't mean anything to me as far as whether they are "real art" or not.

Theres something about most phobias where theres a tiny, tiny corner where you think this really actually could happen.

I just really love the cartoon form. I love the plasticity of it.

I think when you really love something, you notice the minutiae.

Even under the best of circumstances - in twenty-first century America at least - caring for elderly parents ain't no place for sissies.

You could pray all you want that you have a massive stroke while you're working and die, but possibly that won't happen, and you'll be in this bed, and somebody's going to have to clean you up.

And as light as the rain seems, it still rains down on you.

To tell your soul that you love it, is like remembering who you are after being in a coma for a hundred years. Your face will beam the light of a hundred galaxies.

He wants to punish me because I do not conform to his view. Well I am just telling him that he cannot punish me. I am beyond his ego and punishment.

Two friends-two bodies with one soul inspired.

I don't get discouraged because of the comments. After all, they don't really know me.

And thus they give the time, that Nature meant for peaceful sleep and meditative snores, to ceaseless din and mindless merriment and waste of shoes and floors.

I am competitive, and I like to be as competitive as possible in anything I do.

My father who in this case was an obsessive life-long storyteller, and by a very peculiar trick of my father's. My father would tell a very, very long story, and the punch line would be in Yiddish.

I believe in Liberty for all men: the space to stretch their arms and their souls.