I wake up some mornings hating me too.

Every situation has changed me as a person.

It’s possible – you can never know – that the universe exists only for me. If so, it’s sure going well for me, I must admit.

Everyone has at least one story, and each of us is funny if we admit it. You have to admit you’re the funniest person you’ve ever heard of.

In a way, a jail is a place where you can rest, read books and live with yourself.

Sometimes I feel I hope I am not taking advantage of my stardom.

I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.

Somehow I wasn’t completely crucified by the critics. I don’t know how or why, I probably should’ve been.

I actually was class clown, but I don’t know how that happened because I’ve never been considered an outwardly funny person-as the people in this room will attest.

I was unwise enough to actually mention this in public a few times, and in fact to point out that there were two versions of the book now. One of them had somebody else’s name on the cover, one had my name on the cover.