When I was 9 or 10, my father got me a Goya guitar, and I started learning Spanish guitar. My first public appearance was at Kennywood Park in Pittsburgh. I was on a press junket for a TV series, Circus Boy, which was about a little kid in a circus who had a pet elephant. […]
I’m convinced, with heightened awareness, that there will come a time when we look back and say, “Can you believe that people used to eat animals?”
I wish wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats,—more’s the pity!
We’re just animals that, left to our own devices, will kill each other. We’re only out for ourselves anyway. This illusion that we’re more than that is nothing but that: an illusion.
I can’t go to Disneyland, as myself. I can’t go out and walk down the street. There’s crowds, and bumper to bumper cars. And so, I create my world behind my gates. Everything that I love is behind those gates. We have elephants, and giraffes, and crocodiles, and every kind of tigers and lions. And […]
If a woman has raised a horse, a man can sometimes never cope with it at all.
If called by a panther, don’t anther.
A rat’s private life, a rat’s thoughts and conversation, may be far more wholesome than a rabbit’s. Yet a thousand rabbits might play on the floor of my bedroom all night, and be hanged to them, while if a single rat so much as scratched beneath the flooring I would lose all sleep.
The lion and the calf shall lie down together but the calf won’t get much sleep.
On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.