“I think the best time to stare off into space is when you’re going 65 on a motorcycle, provided you’re wearing your astronaut’s helmet.”

“I wear a helmet when I write, because if you’re doing it right, writing is dangerous.”

“Tonight when she came down to the front desk she was wearing neon green hot pants and a pink leopard print jacket. But the best part was that her boots almost matched her jacket. I think she’s on to something. Why let the fact that you’re 65-years-old interfere with your ability to dress like a colorblind fourteen-year-old?”

“I notice when you’re gone. With you not being there I notice your unbeing, with you still being a being in time but not my space.”

“If you’re wearing a space suit, I’ll take a unicrescent sandwich; hold the mayonnaise—and the moon. (But don’t hold it in your hands.) Let us dance like the moon is hollow and inhabited by beings of light who give off enough energy so I can be a night nudist.”

“I don’t have a motorcycle, but I do have a picture of a motorcycle helmet. And a photo of a half-eaten Big Mac from 2004. I know, I’m an adrenaline junky.”

“When tragedy hits close to home, like your neighbor’s house, it really makes you stop and think. And while you’re thinking, I’ll be speeding off in the getaway car. 
”