I live at the dentist's. I'm on my third set of teeth that they put in with nails and screws.

For really it was the refinement of civilized cruelty, this spick, span, and ingenious affair of shining leather and gleaming steel, which hoisted you and tilted you and fitted reassuringly into the small of your back and cupped your head tenderly between padded cushions. It ensured for you a more complete muscular relaxation than any armchair that you could buy for your own home: but it left your tormented nerves without even the solace of a counter-irritant. In the old days the victim's attention had at least been distracted by an ache in the back, a crick in the neck, pins and needles in the legs, and the uneasy tickling of plush under the palm. But now, too efficiently suspended between heaven and earth, you were at liberty to concentrate on hell.

You can't do anything else once you do game shows. You have no career.

It's fun to get a message on the phone service that Lucille Ball or Burt Reynolds called, and play it very blase by asking, 'Anyone else?'

The thing that's funny is that everyone thinks I'm dead.

Just get a bag and drop a dream in it, and you'll be surprised what happens.