I have a spasm of envy for the person that was killed by a falling bookcase, as long as it doesn't happen prematurely.

I don't think falling in love in Slovakia is much different from falling in love in Tunbridge Wells.

I just happen to know quite a lot of what happened in Czechoslovakia between 1968 and the fall of Communism.

I would much rather that the sirens go off maybe a little prematurely than not.

From as long as, literally as far back as I can remember I've liked puns, word jokes, I can literally recall looking at a comic at the age of six or seven and I remember what I enjoyed and what it was precisely and how the joke worked.

Love is - OK, it's 20 things, but it isn't 19. And I think that love reaches for something which is very, very deep in us and is very easily obscured, and is also very easily denied, which is the instinct towards the other person, other than toward the self.