And didn't time always slow, anyway, the closer you came to what you wanted?

As if it were possible for one person to care about another and still treat him or her like this.

But what if time worked the other way around?What if what his adolescent self had felt then was the ghost of his present one, sitting here on a sagging bench, beckoning him into his future?

There is no such thing as a perfect phrase, or a private language, and . . . time only runs the one way.

Some people think the real them is whoever they are when they're not around other people.

It's like Charlie's dreamed everything he lived through here.

Everything's always changing, Charlie. We become who we are. The mask melts into the face.

Three’s all you need to change the world. Look at the Bolsheviks, or the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

William, an artist is someone who combines a desperate need to be understood with the fiercest love of privacy-

No amount of art, even of the Great American variety, can elevate you above, or insulate you from, the divisions, the cataclysms, of ordinary life.

Reading it was like subletting a small apartment in someone else's head.

So often we focus on finding answers to life's mysteries...when in reality, a wiser approach is to start asking better questions, and more of them.

Ask your wife for forgiveness, even when you’re right.

The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.

Powerful people do not try to control other people. They know it doesn't work, and that it's not their job. Their job is to control themselves.

I've actually seen a ghost, so I know they're really around.

I just try to speak passionately about things I'm involved in and moved by.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.

But listen up Alex Rider.

We're not necessarily the ski boat, we're the skier. There are countries like Japan and Korea and others who are the ski boat at this point, but we're getting pulled right behind them.

There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.