My grandmother was an unparalleled storyteller who gave me a preview of how life might turn out, and also fortified my empathy.

The distribution might which Penguin brought to the table and the stature they gave me as an author is unparalleled.

No one blames themselves if they don't understand a cartoon, as they might with a painting or 'real' art; they simply think it's a bad cartoon.

It's on an oval table my grandmother gave me.

There seems to be a peculiar kind of clamor for comics. And I'm not sure how much a part of reality that is. I think partly it's based on some idea that comics are what everybody wants to read - and I don't think that's the case.

The first thing I do when I get up is I look out the window. I've been looking at the same image for six years. It's imprinted in my mind like an afterimage template.