I sometimes suffer from insomnia. And when I can't fall asleep, I play what I call the alphabet game.

Grime is not like messiness or some fingerprints on a cabinet; it takes a long time to accumulate.

My parents were born in 1912; they graduated from college into the Depression. They kept notebooks of every nickel they spent, and these habits of frugality from having grown up so poor never left them.

When my father died, my mother was still alive. And I think when your second parent dies, there is that shock: 'Oh man, I'm an orphan.' There's also this relief: It's done; it's finished; it's over.

There's something about most phobias where there's a tiny, tiny corner where you think this really actually could happen.

I think I have a habit of, in my head, taking notes on whatever, you know, whether they're verbal or pictorial or just making a note of things as they're happening.