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. . . I wrote a letter to Thomas Pynchon asking, Can I have your permission to try to make an adaptation of your book? And I had no idea that he would answer me, because he's pretty elusive. But he did send a letter back that said, Yes, you can do that - as long as the only instrument in the opera is a banjo. I thought, That's an interesting way of saying No.
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It's just such a great miracle when things do work, and they work for such a wild variety of crazy reasons.
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You know, I can see two tiny pictures of myself And there's one in each of your eyes. And they're doin' everything I do. Every time I light a cigarette, they light up theirs. I take a drink and I look in and they're drinkin' too. It's drivin' me crazy. It's drivin' me nuts.
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I don't care about being famous or having a lot of people go, "She's really good."
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I just sort of wish people would dance differently. It reminds me of teenage sex.
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People are really suffering these days. There's a lot of corporate triumph and a lot of personal despair as they wonder what are they working for.
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Last night, I had that dream again. I dreamt I had to take a test, in a Dairy Queen, on another planet.
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You know the reason I love the stars is because we can't hurt them: we can't burn them, we can't melt them , we can't make them overflow, we can't flood them or burn them up—so we keep reacing for them