In general, I'm careful when I'm dealing with subjects of deep cultural importance and write with abandon when I'm dealing with issues of personal dysfunction.

I don't really get romance. Bring me fish or moose, not flowers.

Once your writing is out there, you can't control how other people perceive it. All you can do is stand in your truth.

I was born on the same day as Edgar Allan Poe and Dolly Parton: January 19. I am absolutely certain that this affects my writing in some way.

Autumn. Pretty leaves, pumpkin pie and sweaters. Perfect weather for reading. Winter is great but I hate shoveling.

I think we learn slowly as a group, but we learn. The ozone layer is still there.

I find myself moved by social justice issues. I'm not sure where that will lead me. I'm willing to nurture it.

We can be the new brand of self-extincting dinosaurs or we can evolve.

Our ability to turn off empathy for specific kinds of humans and then use faulty logic to justify our beliefs is messily sociopathic.

I don't think anyone's normal.

The push and pull of representing your world responsibly and your artistic license is a tricky balance.

Personally I always feel like I could use a little more of poetry apothegmatic power in my own work but we're always lacking something.

It feels so good to be happy.

Within the oyster's shell uncouth The purest pearl may hide, Trust me you'll find a heart of truth Within that rough outside.

She's just trying to make sure Anthony gets a good meal - Antonio.

If you listen to the way I speak and watch the way I conduct myself - there's nothing about me that's rock n' roll. It's like, 'Hello, I'm in a rock n' roll band'. 'No, you're a narc.'

For me a poem has to sing out of itself and the lilt of it carries the magic.

The only thing that interests me is history - reviewing the past and making something out of it.

I'm living in Los Angeles, I'm in films and I'm on television, and I'm working with actors and telling stories. I'm living the fantasy. My worst day is a great day.

Tennis, imprisoned within fixed boundaries, a patch of an acre, a green rectangle, tries the human soul. A tennis court is like a coffin, only larger.

We want someone to bring us the news.