“No one wants to hear about how awesome you were; people want to hear about the time you blew it.”

I can tell you this: Stand-up is not glamorous.

A belief in feminism is a belief in personal freedom.

Real success and accomplishment, at whatever it is you are passionate about, requires real work.

I love being married. I love my husband. I think married people always have that thing where they think that the grass is greener on the single side, but all my single friends are like,

Wounds turn into scars and scars make you tough.

I’m such a geek, and have always been a real nerd.

I visualize myself winning the Olympic Pentathlon, inventing a phone that can be controlled by brain waves, or doing the laundry.

“You are going to fail, and anyone who is success has powered through many, many failures.”

Am I going to complain about being typecast as smart? I don’t think so.

“Trust me, you don’t want to have to actually interact with these people.”

I spent most of my seventh grade summer dehydrated, green-tongued, and smelling like a Malaysian whorehouse.

I’m the kindest, most supportive friend ever, probably to my own detriment, but I hope that I am toughening up a little bit.

I have one girlfriend who is dating right now – she’s divorced – and she’s on Tinder, so we play Tinder. I know that’s not a real game, but it’s my favorite thing to do.

TV always wants more people to be watching.

The best advice anybody could have given me was to keep getting up over and over again.

Wipe the rivulets of watery drool from your face, and do it again, like an obstinate toddler running against the wall with his head in a bucket.

A woman called me interesting once, and it kind of blew my mind. She said, ‘You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,’ and I was like, ‘Wow.’

I asked these Indians: “Do men ever make Chicha?” My question was met with gales of laughter. The women howled. Bent over in hilarity, one replied, “Men can’t brew. Chicha made by men would only make gas in the belly.