I will go to my grave in a state of abject endless fascination that we all have the capacity to become emotionally involved with a personality that doesn't exist.
It's never too late to have a happy childhood.
The universe throws us some obvious little pitches sometimes, and we need to be awake enough not to let them slip by.
Dear Lord, I've been asked, nay commanded, to thank Thee for the Christmas turkey before us... a turkey which was no doubt a lively, intelligent bird... a social being... capable of actual affection... nuzzling its young with almost human- like compassion. Anyway, it's dead and we're gonna eat it. Please give our respects to its family.
If I could have drawn a cat yelling for lasagna every day for 15 years and have them pay me $30 million to do so, I would have.
I knew 'Mars Needs Moms! ' would be a movie seconds after the title came to mind. Similarly, I also knew that my daughter would be calling me a dork as a default term of endearment eventually.
Steve Dallas...a frat-boy lawyer who I knew in school. He's never written me. I suspect he was shot by an annoyed girlfriend, which has saved me many legal fees.
Liberal, shmiberal. That should be a new word. Shmiberal: one who is assumed liberal, just because he's a professional whiner in the newspaper. If you'll read the subtext for many of those old strips, you'll find the heart of an old-fashioned Libertarian. And I'd be a Libertarian, if they weren't all a bunch of tax-dodging professional whiners.
I drew the last image ever of Opus at midnight while Puccini was playing and I got rather stupid. Thirty years. A bit like saying goodbye to a child - which is ironic because I was never, never sentimental about him as many of his fans were.
Some of us find our lives abridged even before the paperback comes out.
Cartooning is about deconstruction: you gotta tear something down to make a joke.
That's the conundrum of cartoon stripping, as opposed to political cartoons. When your anger is the driving force of your drawing hand, failure follows. The anger is OK, but it has to serve the interests of the heart, frankly.
I was never asked to join the Editorial Cartoonists Of America. No fraternity would have me in college, either. I think they know something.
Irony can elude the genius among us, sometimes.
I'd be a Libertarian, if they weren't all a bunch of tax-dodging professional whiners.
And just as it is with all proper grannies, she ordered me into my pink bunny jammies.
'Harry Potter' shouldn't be children's first experience with suspense and plot turns.
I'll confess right here that I secretly wish I'd have drawn a strip about a little boy with a fake tiger, going for adventures throughout the universe in spaceships of his imagination.
I ignore Hallmark Holidays. And this comes from a guy who has sold a million Opus greeting cards.
It's not terribly dignified to have anyone seeing one laugh at one's own material.
I could draw Bloom County with my nose and pay my cleaning lady to write it, and I'd bet I wouldn't lose 10% of my papers over the next twenty years. Such is the nature of comic-strips. Once established, their half-life is usually more than nuclear waste.
I grew up in Los Angeles and always wished I'd spent a childhood in a far different place.
My kids hear me behind my door, giggling like an idiot, and they roll their eyes at the blatant indignity of it all.
I happen to think nearly everybody - especially those one might find in the odd issue of 'People' magazine, including me - is frightfully boring, especially me. And Tom Cruise. Tom and I are alike in only this way.
It was a huge challenge to learn digital painting well enough so that computers don't pop into mind when one sees one.
