“There are things I've given up onLike recording funny answering machine messages.It's part of growing olderAnd the human race as a group has matured along the same lines.It seems our comedy dates the quickest.If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokesI hope you won't be insultedif I say you're trying too hard.Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Liveseem slow-witted and obvious now.”

“Maybe there’s a heaven, like they say, a place where everything we’ve ever done is noted and recorded, weighed on big karma scales. Maybe not. Maybe this whole thing is just a giant experiment run by aliens who find out human hijinks amusing. Or maybe we’re an abandoned project started by a deity who checked out a long time ago, but we’re still hard-wired to believe, to try to make meaning out of the seemingly random. Maybe we’re all part of the same unconscious stew, dreaming the same dreams, hoping the same hopes, needing the same connection, trying to find it, missing, trying again—each of us playing our parts in the other’s plotlines, just one big ball of human yarn tangled up together. Maybe this is it.”

“How funny.” I say flatly. “and I was hoping for a battle of wits but you appear to be unarmed.” His laugh fills the silence and brings a smile to my face.”

“But from now on let's try to be careful when we're around people I know. You won't sketch them and I won't Mace them. We'll just try to relax and get drunk.”

“I think it's because he likes you.' 'Well, that's too bad. I've given up that kind of thing.' 'What kind of thing?' 'Love, dating, the inevitable ensuing heartbreak.”

“I'm just going to go out there and try to win the race. When you go out there trying to go for a record, you're usually not going to get it.”