“I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.”

I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.

Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before.

There are too many of us and we are all too far apart.

Who is more to be pitied, a writer bound and gagged by policemen or one living in perfect freedom who has nothing more to say?

Many people need desperately to receive this message: ‘I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.

I can have oodles of charm when I want to.

Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before. He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way.

Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, It might have been.

One of the few good things about modern times: If you die horribly on television, you will not have died in vain. You will have entertained us.

All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.

A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.

You were sick, but now you’re well again, and there’s work to do.

Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I’ve said before, bugs in amber.

Ting-a-ling mother fucker.

All right – I’ll tell you what you did for me: you went for happy, silly, beautiful walks with me.

If I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I’m grateful that so many of those moments are nice.