“Tiptoe through the tulips with me.”

We’re in the money, the skies are sunny; old man depression, you are through, you done us wrong!

Where the underworld can meet the elite, Forty-Second Street.

The rumble of a subway train, the rattle of the taxis.

My objection to the church isn’t that the preachers are cruel, hypocritical, actually wicked, though some of them are that, too .

The thought of a limit to perceptual space and time staggers the mind.

Add to those distortions to our own egos the corresponding distortions in the egos of others, and you see how cloudy the glass must become through which we look at each other.

I can’t expose a human weakness on the stage unless I know it through having it myself.

When I was young, we thought that Oscar Wilde was a great nobleman who had thrown his life away for love. Nothing could be less true. He slept with East Enders who were procured for him by Lord Alfred Douglas.

Most people thought I was a dork. But if you have a sense of humor about it, no one can bring you down.

Since man is mortal, the only immortality possible for him is to leave something behind him that is immortal since it will always move. This is the artist’s way of scribbling “Kilroy was here” on the wall of the final and irrevocable oblivion through which he must someday pass.

You know that old saying, ‘A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ – that’s me.