A great deal of my mail comes from fans of the 'Oz' picture - fans of all ages. The scholarly, the curious, the disbelievers write and ask how? why? when? what for? did you fly? melt? scream? cackle? appear? disappear? produce? sky-write? deal with m...
Hollywood is the kind of town that likes to make everything larger than life: movie premieres, aging actress' lips, and murders. Actors come from all over the world to find their sliver of fame on the street of L.A. Many stars rise, but many more fal...
And like most middle-aged people who hear the clock ticking in their lives, I had come to resent a waste or theft of my time that was greater than any theft of my goods or money.
Vin: What're you gonna do when Calvera comes? Old Man: At my age, a little excitement is welcome. Don't worry. Why would he kill me? Bullets cost money.
If you look at films about becoming a man, coming-of-age movies are made with 12-, 16-, 40-, 50-year-olds... For a guy to feel like he's a 100 percent grown-up is almost like giving up. Like admitting that you're on your way into the grave.
I wanted to tell her “I love you” back, but I guess in waiting for the perfect moment (the next commercial break), I ended up completely forgetting.
Love isn’t easy. Making love is easy, especially when you’re hard, like I am now. There’s just something about retirement homes that I find erotic.
You know you’re in love when you reach out to hold your woman’s hand, without remembering that her hands are full because you insisted she carry all the groceries out to the car.
I’ve got a great body. It’s got four wheels under it and I drive it to work. I would give you a ride to work, but what am I, a camel? No, I’m the Love Mule.
She moved her hands like crane claws as she spoke, trying to dig at the essence of what she was saying. It was the dirtiest I love you I’ve ever heard.
I love you because I love you, and if you don’t like it you can use my circular logic as a noose and hang yourself.
My girlfriend and I are close. She’s like a brother to me. My brother is also dating her. We make love like mannequins and mashed potatoes, despite the fact that I’m single and an only child.
I’d rather have a horse in a glass, because I’ll be just down the hall if you need me. My affection is fluid, so why won’t you let me love you?
We ate soup in the pouring rain. I said I liked it, even though it was a bit too watery for my taste. Then we made love like two rainbows sizzling in a pan like bacon.
All the love I have left over from my last relationship is covered in tinfoil and labeled “Do Not Eat.” Since I don’t feel like cooking or making love, I’ll probably have it for dinner tonight.
I called her Nebraska, because she was from Iowa. We made love like the Midwest. Well, not all of it. More like the Midwest minus Kansas, if you know what I mean.
I am Kid Awesome, I kid you not. But I don’t think making love is childish—or for children, unless you’re doing it for children (to produce them, not to entertain them).
If I can scoop soup at 20 MPH while riding a three-legged horse, just imagine how great of a lover I am when I’m lying perfectly still.
The ice cube melted slowly like a candle, and I thought about my love for her and how it was like an ice cube candle and that I’ve always wanted to drink fire and make love with the ferociousness of a cooked spaghetti noodle.
I want to be loved, but first, I want to love. I’ll love you and we’ll both feel good, and if you love me too that’d be great, but not entirely necessary.
She wasn’t much for words, but she told me she loved me in other ways, like soft kisses, gentle caresses, and occasionally even acknowledging that I was also in the room with her and that other guy.
