“Reality is nothing but a collective hunch.”

When I’ve had a meltdown, people will say to me, “Well, you failed to keep your sense of humor.”

You can’t expect insights, even the big ones, to make you suddenly understand everything. But I figure: Hey it’s a step in the right direction if they leave you confused in a deeper way.

The start to a better world is the belief that it is possible.

I try to be cynical, but it’s so hard to keep up.

Wouldn’t it be great if we all grew up to be what we wanted to be? The world would be full of nurses, firemen, and ballerinas.

9 to 5 made people aware of equal pay for equal work. It hasn’t really happened, but it has come closer.

Even when I’m being funny, I’m deadly serious.

Lady, I do not make up things. That is lies. Lies are not true. But the truth could be made up if yo know how. And that’s the truth.

There will be sex after death, we just won’t be able to feel it.

If evolution was worth its salt, it should’ve evolved something better than ‘survival of the fittest.’ I think a better idea would be ‘survival of the wittiest.’ At least, that way, creatures that didn’t survive could’ve died laughing.

Having a real public outlet is how you imprint something for yourself. It’s just a matter of timing. It’s like you’ve marked your territory.

I like a teacher who gives you something to take home to think about besides homework.

You know being relevant or coming up with something interesting, funny to say about what’s current is just as hard as it might ever be depending on the serendipity of it all.

We are people with lives, not consumers with lifestyles.

Being a New Yorker is never having to say you are sorry.

Every day I read the newspapers, and no matter how cynical I get, it’s imposssible to keep up.

I love to collect modern art.

Little moments attach themselves to other little moments and collect into big dreams. We become what we experience.

People will throw stones at you. Don’t throw them back. Collect them all and build an empire.

For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?

I think we can not categorize. Things do not fit into a mold.

The great and abiding lesson of American history, particularly the Cold War, is that the engine of capitalism – the individual – is mightier than any collective.

While you are alive, your worldly self is like a collector of benefits from Allah’s bounties, which come to you from myriads of hands.

Words have taken hostage of my tongue. All the things I’m too afraid to say collect like volcanic ash in my lungs. Vulnerabilities bleed on paper but leave my mouth – never.