It was a bitter moment for us. We weren't two mature parents. We were just two kids playing grown-up. We still needed Mommy and Daddy's permission, blessings, and money to survive.

Did you ever notice that the first piece of luggage on the carousel never belongs to anyone?

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me'.

In two decades I've lost a total of 789 pounds. I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.

Someone once threw me a small, brown, hairy kiwi fruit, and I threw a wastebasket over it until it was dead.

I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage.

When my kids become wild and unruly, I use a nice, safe playpen. When they're finished, I climb out.

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.

Never go to your high school reunion pregnant or they will think that is all you have done since you graduated.

Thanks to my mother, not a single cardboard box has found its way back into society. We receive gifts in boxes from stores that went out of business twenty years ago.

If a man watches three football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead.

Tell him that riches will not procure for you a single moment of happiness. Luxury consoles poverty alone, and at that only for a short time, until one becomes accustomed to it.

God always has a plan for you, before you even have a plan for yourself.

Actually, bizarrely, in America, I get more appreciation from the odd, unusual stuff I've done, almost because I'm not, if you like, famous in America as I am in England.

We shall not enter into any of the abstruse definitions of war used by publicists. We shall keep to the element of the thing itself, to a duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale.

There is no future in any job. The future lies in the man who holds the job.

Non-ambiguity is the shaping force of reality.

I have a natural swagger.

Writing poetry is a state of free float.

Words have a life; without response they die.

The time has passed for our sensations in painting to be whispered. We wish them in the future to sing and re-echo upon our canvasses in deafening and triumphant flourishes.