We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

I have never listened to anyone who criticized my taste in space travel, sideshows or gorillas. When this occurs, I pack up my dinosaurs and leave the room.

Ours is a culture and a time immensely rich in trash as it is in treasures.

That's the great secret of creativity. You treat ideas like cats: you make them follow you.

We need our Arts to teach us how to breathe

You grow ravenous. You run fevers. You know exhilarations. You can't sleep at night, because your beast-creature ideas want out and turn you in your bed. It is a grand way to live.

I came on the old and best ways of writing through ignorance and experiment and was startled when truths leaped out of brushes like quail before gunshot.

So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

It is a lie to write in such way as to be rewarded by fame offered you by some snobbish quasi-literary groups in the intellectual gazettes.

And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right.

Oh how I've missed you, Holmes.

I'll tell you what I'm grateful for, and that's the clarity of understanding that the most important things in life are health, family and friends, and the time to spend on them.

I'm a Hollywood writer, so I put on my sports jacket and take off my brain.

My mom is really skinny, too. I got it from her. Ive never done yoga before.

In New York the other day, there was a pro-Martha Stewart rally. Only four people showed up ... and three of them were made out of crepe paper!

If I waited for a proper occasion to get dressed up I'd never wear half of these clothes. Put on the clothes and you make things happen to match them. It doesn't work the other way around.

Remember wars are won by killing people. The more we kill, the quicker we'll get out of this war.

I love her not with my mind or my imagination, but with my whole being. Loving her I feel myself to be an integral part of all God's joyous world.

By the time I was five, I was a little diva.

O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.