I was a class clown.

Comedy has lost its eloquence.

In the book of things people more often do wrong than right, investing must certainly top the list, followed closely by wallpapering and eating artichokes.

I have a work-out regime; I am not a maniac. It sounds cliche, but stand-up comedy, doing a one-man show, helps keep me young, and yes, it is exhausting, but I don’t collapse.

The ’50s were terrifying with nuclear bomb stuff but boring in a social way and then the ’60s were happening, and remember, there was no AIDS.

And the only studies were – Rodney Dangerfield was my mentor and he was my Yale drama school for comedy.

My son has been a class clown and it sort of ran in the family.

I was in the De Witt Clinton Hight School marching band. One of the worst bands ever formed. When we played the national anthem, people from every country stood – except Americans.

In the fifties I had dreams about touching a naked woman and she would turn to bronze or the dream about hot dogs chasing donuts through the Lincoln Tunnel.

According to one account of the New York City schools during the 1950s: The teacher could not technically hit the child, but the old crones found ways of skirting the rules. The push-probe-pull method was popular, in which the teacher would not hit you, but would poke you with her gnarled, witch-like fingers and grab your face like a taffy pull until you screamed. ... The pull-and-choke was also a favorite. It was executed by pulling the compulsory necktie up like a noose, until the errant boy's face turned the school colors.