Looking 50 is great, if you're 60.

My love life is like a piece of Swiss cheese; most of it's missing, and what's there stinks.

My routines come out of total unhappiness. My audiences are my group therapy.

I’ve had so much plastic surgery, when I die they will donate my body to Tupperware.

A man can sleep around, no questions asked, but if a woman makes nineteen or twenty mistakes she's a tramp.

I knew I was an unwanted baby when I saw that my bath toys were a toaster and a radio.

We don't apologize for a joke. We are comics. We are here to make you laugh. If you don't get it, then don't watch us.

I hate housework! You make the beds, you do the dishes and six months later you have to start all over again.

Thank God we're living in a country where the sky's the limit, the stores are open late and you can shop in bed thanks to television.

I wish I could tell you it gets better. It doesn't get better. YOU get better.

I told my mother-in-law that my house was her house, and she said, 'Get the hell off my property.'

Trust in the Lord, He will uplift you.

Technology doesn't address everything - for example, air travel still sucks.

In order not to cut out a large part of one's private life, the creative work should not swallow up every other form of self-expression. But that is the most complicated thing.

I believe in irony. And if V-Day has taught me anything, it's that if you go out with artistic, outrageous irony and humor, people are drawn to it.

[Detractors] are just wrong, and that's okay. They just don't see it yet. That's what I would tell myself to keep those moments of doubt, only moments.

Fate makes us family. choice makes us friends.

Even stopped clocks are right twice a day.

What the artist is always looking for is the mode of existence in which soul and body are one and indivisible: in which the outward is expressive of the inward: in which form reveals.

Did I become court composer through masterful procrastination? Hardly!

Terrestrial happiness is of short duration. The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel; the fragrant flower is passing away in its own odors.