It's somehow more comforting to imagine that one's suffering is unique, and to measure against what one doesn't know, rather than against what one does.

I prefer to imagine that my wife, a few friends, and occasionally my mom are the only ones who read what I do, though I realize that this is somewhat unrealistic.

I don't think of myself as an illustrator. I think of myself as a cartoonist. I write the story with pictures - I don't illustrate the story with the pictures.

The thing I don't understand is why so often one hears discussion of the fruits of human labor as if it's all the creation of some alien race.

A book sometimes seems to impose a through-line to life that real life doesn't actually have.

The modern world seems to make fun of people in a lot of ways.

Even the disappointing diffusion of a sheer curtain can suggest the most colorful bouquet of unspeakable secrets.

One of the most valuable things one of my art teachers said to me was, ‘Don’t get upset by criticism. Value the fact that at least someone noticed what you did.

I believe that the development of language - of naming, categorization, conceptualization - destroys our ability to see as we age.

Comics, at least in periodical form, exist almost entirely free of any pretense; the critical world of art hardly touches them, and they're 100% personal.

Mostly, I was only interested in television as a kid, and the majority of reading material I collected was an adjunct to that central concern, comic books and magazines included.

Let your eyes talk, mouth listens and ear sleeps.

Maturity is when you're able to say, 'It's not just them. It's me.

It seemed to him there was never much time with women. Before you could look at one twice, you were into an argument, and they were telling you what was going to happen.

As long as one can think as an outsider, an observer apart from the conflict, there is hope for a resolving thought.

Say you were split, you were split in fragments and none of the pieces would talk to you. Wouldn't you want to be who you had been? Well, maybe I'd want that too.

In the grip of a neurological disorder, I am fast losing control of words even as my relationship with the world has been reduced to them.

Life has taught me that it is not for our faults that we are disliked and even hated, but for our qualities.

Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is.

I always knew writing a novel was a great thing.

Eh. Hipster's not really a thing anymore. Plus, hipster or out of touch old dude? Same uniform really.