Liberal, shmiberal. That should be a new word. Shmiberal: one who is assumed liberal, just because he’s a professional whiner in the newspaper.
BERKELEY BREATHEDI’ll confess right here that I secretly wish I’d have drawn a strip about a little boy with a fake tiger, going for adventures throughout the universe in spaceships of his imagination.
More Berkeley Breathed Quotes
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A mind is a terrible thing. All this evolution nonsense is making me feel like a complete APE!
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I grew up in Los Angeles and always wished I’d spent a childhood in a far different place.
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If you’ll read the subtext for many of those old strips, you’ll find the heart of an old-fashioned Libertarian. And I’d be a Libertarian, if they weren’t all a bunch of tax-dodging professional whiners.
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It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
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I don’t get fan mail. It disappeared with the digital revolution.
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Irony can elude the genius among us, sometimes.
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I will go to my grave in a state of abject endless fascination that we all have the capacity to become emotionally involved with a personality that doesn’t exist.
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Some of us find our lives abridged even before the paperback comes out.
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Cartooning is about deconstruction: you gotta tear something down to make a joke.
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It’s not terribly dignified to have anyone seeing one laugh at one’s own material.
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I’d be a Libertarian, if they weren’t all a bunch of tax-dodging professional whiners.
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I ignore Hallmark Holidays. And this comes from a guy who has sold a million Opus greeting cards.
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Harry Potter’ shouldn’t be children’s first experience with suspense and plot turns.
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I was never asked to join the Editorial Cartoonists Of America. No fraternity would have me in college, either. I think they know something.
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The digital world has allowed me a connection with my reader that I’d never had before. I didn’t meet the people who read my material.
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Doonesbury had the requisite and overwhelming influence in 1980, as it did on any college cartoonist who was paying attention, of course.
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A turkey which was no doubt a lively, intelligent bird… a social being… capable of actual affection… nuzzling its young with almost human- like compassion. Anyway, it’s dead and we’re gonna eat it. Please give our respects to its family.
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I could draw Bloom County with my nose and pay my cleaning lady to write it, and I’d bet I wouldn’t lose 10% of my papers over the next twenty years. Such is the nature of comic-strips. Once established, their half-life is usually more than nuclear waste.
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Dear Lord, I’ve been asked, nay commanded, to thank Thee for the Christmas turkey before us…
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And just as it is with all proper grannies, she ordered me into my pink bunny jammies.
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The cartooning was always just an abstraction. It was an income. It was making me famous. It was allowing me to go and do other things that I’d wanted to do.
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I can say that even in the midst of my most cynical comic stripping: Opus shone through with a bit of heart, anchoring the ugly proceedings with a comforting pull of emotion.
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I’ll confess right here that I secretly wish I’d have drawn a strip about a little boy with a fake tiger, going for adventures throughout the universe in spaceships of his imagination.
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I knew ‘Mars Needs Moms! ‘ would be a movie seconds after the title came to mind. Similarly, I also knew that my daughter would be calling me a dork as a default term of endearment eventually.
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Keep in mind that in 1985, I had a potential readership of over 50 million Americans. At that time, a good portion of those were under 30.
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I paint digitally now. A pity, in some ways, as the biggest price one pays is that you no longer have a finished piece of physical art to hang on a wall. I miss that terribly.
BERKELEY BREATHED