“Exercise is for people who can’t handle drugs or alcohol.”

I worry about kids today – because of the sexual revolution, they’re going to grow up and never know what “dirty” means.

We are all in this together, by ourselves.

Man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain.

Success is a ladder that cannot be climbed with your hands in your pocket – The road to success is always under construction.

But there are too many people that make so much money at the cost of lives of other humans and for no reason but to make the money.

If life is so meaningless, then why are we always bringing it up?

Did you know, in the entire universe, we are the only intelligent life forms thought to have a Miss Universe contest?

When we speak to God, we call it prayer; when God speaks back, we call it psychosis!

I was always drawn to more the social-expression-of-culture types.

I feel some part of me can wake up and be very existential and the next day wake up and be sort of in love with the universe.

People hire me to create some kind of archetype or some culture type, or something. I guess they accept whatever I come up with.

Truth is, I’ve always been selling out. The difference is that in the past, I looked like I had integrity because there were no buyers.

To me, “sexual freedom” means freedom from having to have sex.

I can handle reality in small doses, but as a lifestyle, it’s much too confining.

The phone company handles 84 billion calls a year-everything from kings, queens, and presidents to the scum of the earth.

The road to success is always under construction.

There’s no absolutes in life – only vodka.

Whiskey just naturally likes me but beer likes me better.

The depression brought everybody down a peg or two. And the Negroes had but few pegs to fall.

I still drink vodka; I’m not an advocate of drinking, but I’m no angel. I don’t like grass, because it just makes me hungry.

If one intends to make beer from oats, it is prepared with hops.

I drink when I have occasion, and sometimes when I have no occasion.

Don’t give him another thought, baby girl. He wanted a cup of tea; you’re a shot of whiskey.

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!