“I think I may have created a monster with my – I won’t say act – but with my redneck pose.”

My mother went into the Peace Corps when she was sixty-eight.

I do not deny I brought most of my notoriety on myself, nor do I apologize for it.

Paintings are like a beer, only beer tastes good and it’s hard to stop drinking beer.

Marijuana is like Coors beer. If you could buy the damn stuff at a Georgia filling station, youd decide you wouldnt want it.

A redneck’s one that rides around in a truck and drinks beer and throws ’em out the window.

Well, a good ole boy is somebody that rides around in a pick-up truck – which I do – and drinks beer and puts ’em in a litter bag.

Beer is not a good cocktail-party drink, especially in a home where you don’t know where the bathroom is.

Sometimes even lawyers need lawyers.

I always said what I thought and I didn’t hold anything back.

I wasn’t part of John Kennedy’s vision of the world, or Lyndon Johnson’s. I thought of them as anti-Communist imperial monsters.

They did the Monster Mash, it was a grave yard smash.

Joseph Mattson is a monster of a writer.

I’m glad I brought this course, this monster, to its knees.

Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.

I surrender to the Monster. What pleasure at last to give way to the strongest force in oneself.

There’s only one drummer. We all travel to his beat. Well, I couldn’t sing his song. Because for me, it wasn’t a truthful statement. Well, Linda sang it, and it was a monster for her.

The ocean, whose tides respond, like women’s menses, to the pull of the moon, the ocean which corresponds to the amniotic fluid in which human life begins.