For being so ugly, I think God should reward me handsomely. He should give me the tender hands of a lover—and not those of a self-lover.

“I left a jar in the doorway to leave the door ajar, but love never walked in.”

“Who art thou, Art? Do you make art the way I make love—with a paintbrush?”

“I make love like I ride my two-seater unicycle—slowly. If you feel unstable, yo…”

“If you have to dig to find yourself, you are probably dead.”