I was once all by myself in a house on Fire Island. Where I compared the original cast recordings of two different versions of The Wild Party. A helicopter should have descended and taken me away to a gay penal colony. But of course, I was already there.

Most gay bashers will be wearing what gay people had on four years earlier - only in polyester with a Penney's label.

I believe in a benevolent God not because He created the Grand Canyon or Michelangelo, but because He gave us snacks.

According to Hollywood logic, none of the actual Titanic passengers was interesting enough, so the writer-director had to invent a Romeo and Juliet-style fictional couple to heat up the catastrophe. This seems a tiny bit like giving Anne Frank a wacky best friend, to perk up that attic.

Writing is 90% procrastination. It is a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write.

If God didn't want you to have it, He would never have let you see it.

Dysmorphia is when someone looks in the mirror, and sees something else. While I studied my own whatever I was, I decided that maybe everyone has at least a touch of dysmorphia maybe it's impossible for anyone to ever truly know what they look like.

Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials.

I just hate that gay role models are supposed to be just like straight people, as if even straight people are like that.

Because there’s a clock attached to every beautiful woman. From the second she comes into her own, she begins to decline, because she begins to age. Aging is every beautiful woman’s kryptonite. And so, yes, it’s ridiculous and no, you don’t have much time and of course it’s not fair. Those three statements are the essence of beauty.

I love [my parents], but what if I could really talk to them? I mean, what if they had some answers? Or would that just be too weird?

I never got that show - Les Miz. It's about the French guy, right, who steals a loaf of bread, and then he suffers for the rest of his life. For Toast. Get over it!