Eric Idle Quotes

Fuck you very much, the FCC.
Fuck you very much for fining me.
Five thousand bucks a fuck,
So I'm really out of luck.
That's more than Heidi Fleiss was charging me.

One day the sun will die, one day the galaxy will die, one day the entire Universe will die. I’m not feeling too good myself. So, what have I learned over my long and weird life? Well, firstly, that there are two kinds of people, and I don’t much care for either of them. Secondly, when faced with a difficult choice, either way is often best. Thirdly, always leave a party when people begin to play the bongos.

Laughter is the only sane response to pathological lying.

On our way, we got lost and passersby denied all knowledge of the location of the camp. We finally arrived as it was getting dark, and they said it was closing. “Tell them we’re Jewish,” said Graham.

Once you’re in the circus you’re all in the circus, and of course it turns out that they are real people too.

Not that I want to go, of course. I’ll be like the rest of you, clinging on desperately and screaming for more morphine.

If this isn't exactly what went down, it's certainly how it should have happened.

I bring messages and thanks from the others. Terry Gilliam sadly can't be with us tonight as they won't let him show his ass, which has been very favorably compared with Spielberg's ass.
Graham Chapman can't be with us tonight, as sadly he is still dead. And John Cleese is finishing a movie.
He has to get it back to Blockbuster by tomorrow.

After the show Humphrey Barclay, a highly talented Harrovian Head Boy who could act, direct, and draw cartoons, introduced me to John Cleese, a very tall man with black hair and piercing dark eyes. They were very complimentary and encouraged me to audition for the Footlights. I had never heard of this University Revue Club, founded in 1883 to perform sketches and comedy shows, but it seemed like a fun thing to do, and a month later Jonathan Lynn and I were voted in by the Committee, after performing to a packed crowd of comedy buffs in the Footlights’ Club Room. Jonathan, a talented actor, writer, and jazz drummer, would go on to direct Pass the Butler, my first play in the West End, and also write and direct Nuns on the Run, a movie with me and Robbie Coltrane. The audition sketch I had written for us played surprisingly well and, strange details, in the front row, lounging on a sofa, laughing with some Senior Fellows, was the author Kingsley Amis, next to the brother of the soon-to-be-infamous Guy Burgess, who would shortly flee the country, outed as perhaps the most flamboyant of all the Cambridge spies — for whenever he was outrageously drunk in Washington, which was every night, he would announce loudly to everybody that he was a KGB spy. Nobody believed him

The birth of my son in 1973 was the most emotional experience of my life so far. We called him Carey after Carey Harrison, my friend from Cambridge with whom I’d first traveled to France, and as I drove away from the hospital, the Joni Mitchell song of the same name came on the radio. I burst into tears