To look back and know that I have had a pivotal role in the development of comics is something I'm very proud of, although it's not something I think about unless someone brings it up.
I used to look back at pictures and cringe but actually I'm quite proud that I've had fun with fashion and don't always look perfect. The only regret I have is when I look at something I wore when I was very young and it obviously looks like it belonged to someone else.
It's something to be proud about when I'm done, to look back at my career and know I've handled myself the way I wanted to - that my son can look back at my career and be proud of his dad.
I just wanted to do something that had some meaning that I can look back and be proud of, that my family can look back and be proud of.
I'm most proud of my kids, for one, and my family and my parents. Outside of that - what am I proud of? I don't know. I don't look back, I just go forward. I'm just proud of the fact that my parents were immigrants and we had nearly nothing, and all of the sudden, with the help of a lot of people and my parents as a model, I amounted to something. And I'm doing some very decent work.
The smell of cigars reminds me of someone I used to know, and it just always brings me back. I love it; I find something very comforting about it.
I was going to be a storybook illustrator or an editorial illustrator. I ended up in a comics class by mistake because all the others were full, so I was like 'I'll stay for one class, and then I'll go take something else, because I don't care about comics.' I got pulled in really fast; I discovered I had a voice in comics that I didn't know I had.
I do feel very American. I think it's something I'm proud of and proud to be by chance born here. Honestly, that's something I think about.
I think comics will always be around. I think there's something nice about a comic book. People love to hold 'em, turn the pages, fold 'em up, roll 'em up, stick 'em in their back pocket, show 'em to a friend, and say, "Hey, look at this."
For me, whatever the outcome, it's nice to sit back to something and say, "Man, I'm really proud of that. I'm real proud of the experience that I had, I'm proud to be a part of something so iconic whether anyone watches it or not. They can't take away the experience that I had.
When I was right out of college, I felt competitive with some of the guys in my class over career stuff. It's funny now to think about it - that a friend getting a job or something had anything to do with me... I think that my relationship with my wife has played a pivotal role in the chilling out of Aaron.
What I think I know about dating is that you can't take back something you say in a date. You can't lie, and you can't pretend to be someone you're not unless it's not going well and you never see them again. It never works if you try to make yourself seem like someone you're not, and you want to keep dating them. Be yourself. Don't embellish. It will always come back to get you.
HIV changed my life, but I think I've accepted it. I don't even think about it unless someone brings it up.
That this city has second lines - it's something I'm proud of. When the bands come back from the cemetery, they'll play something up - something like 'I'll Be Glad When You're Dead (You Rascal You)' - that will bring the people back to life.
The closest thing to an outline is, because my memory is so bad now, if something occurs to me that I think might be important or pivotal, a lot of times I'll scribble notes down somewhere until I can get back to the book. Of course half the time I look at those notes the next morning and think, "What was that about?"
Remember with your heart. Go back, go back and go back. The skies of this world were always meant to have dragons. When they are not here, humans miss them. Some never think of them, of course. But some children, from the time they are small, they look up at the blue summer sky and watch for something that never comes. Because they know. Something that was supposed to be there faded and vanished. Something that we must bring back, you and I.
But his face had that hollow look, as if there was something gone... you know that look. The inward focus. Distantly attentive to the home you're missing, or the someone you're missing. That look that a bird has when it turns it dry reptilian eye on you. That look that doesn't see you because the mind is filled up with someone it would rather see.