"If the jester's jokes are based on sound ideas, he becomes the thinker, the philosopher," George Carlin said, "and if he uses dazzling language, he becomes a poet, too." More than any comic in memory, Carlin achieved this transmutation—as much cultural essayist as comedian, beloved not just for his jokes but also for the rhythm and poetry of his words. Nine days before his death, he spoke to PT. Sadly, the two-hour interview would be his last. For an extended version, visit blogs.psychologytoday.com/blog/brainstorm/200806/george-carlins-last-interview

On experience. I've been doing this 50 years. By this time it's all second nature. It's all a machine—the observation, the immediate evaluation of the observation, the mental filing of it, writing it down. A 20-year-old has a limited amount of data. At 70, the matrix is more textured and has more contours to it. Observations are compared against a much richer data set.

On his gift for language. My grandfather was a New York City policeman. During his adult life, he wrote out Shakespeare's tragedies longhand just for the joy it gave him. My mother had a great gift for language. My father was an after-dinner speaker, a great raconteur. They both were very funny and gifted verbally. The Irish have a genetic tradition, it seems, an affinity for language and expression. I got that. As the Irish say: "You don't lick it off the rocks, kid." It comes in the blood.

On wanting attention. Being alone as a child fostered in me a need for adult approval and attention. The job is called "look at me." "Look at me. Ain't I smart? Ain't I cute? Ain't I clever?" The fact that I didn't finish school left me with a lifelong need to prove that I'm smart.

On his modus operandi. Do I try to make audiences think? No, that would be the kiss of death. But what I want them to know is that I'm thinking. It's part of that showoff and dropout syndrome. I need to show them I've brought myself to a cleverer, smarter spot than they have. In doing so, I'm saying, "Can't you see this? Can't you see?"

On laughter. I remember the first time I ever made my mother laugh. It's lost on me what I said. I was very young. She laughed frequently, but I knew the difference between her social laugh and her really spontaneous laugh when she was caught off guard—which is the key to laughter, being off guard. I wouldn't have remembered it so well if it hadn't meant a lot to me.

On the joy of writing. I love the feeling I get in my gut when I'm watching something on the computer that's close to being realized. The feeling is, "Wait'll they hear this! I can't wait to tell them!" It's like the player on the end of the bench: "Put me in, Coach, put me in!" They call to me. I can tell which ones are pregnant, which ones need to be moved up to a higher level of readiness. It's because I can't wait to share them with people.

On the joy of performing. You get 2,500 people acting as a single organism. The audience is a single organism and it's you and it. To have that feeling of mastery up there—it's an assertion of power. "Here I am, I have the microphone, you came here for this express purpose." There's nothing like it.

On alienation. I have never felt like a participant. I've always felt like an observer. I don't really identify with America. And I don't feel like a member of the human race. I know I am—all the definitions are there—but I really don't feel a part of it.

On humanity. I'm not an angry person, just very disappointed, and contemptuous of my fellow humans' choices. I'm contemptuous of the mass. One on one with people, I have great compassion. When I see individuals, I see their individual beauty.

On his mother's strength. I was alone as a child. My father was dead. My mother left him when I was 2 months old and he died when I was 8. He drank too much and he was a bully and she had the courage to take two boys, one of them 2 months old and one of them 5 years old, and to leave him in 1937 and get back into the business world and get a job and raise us through the end of the Depression and through the Second World War. My mother had that strength. I witnessed it. When she took us away from him, she saved us.

On recognition. Richard Dawkins used an excerpt of mine for a chapter heading. When you're a dropout and the culture accepts you and begins to quote you and teach your stuff in class and textbooks, this is my honorary baccalaureate. I think, "There's a little feather in my cap." I know I've accomplished a good deal. These things over the years mean, "Yeah, good job, George. Good job."

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