Has there always been someone like me to bury the bodies, to have regrets, to carry on after everyone else was dead?

That's how the madness of the world tries to colonize you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality.

It was a test of a fragile trust. It was a test of our curiosity and fascination, which walked side by side with our fear. A test of whether we preferred to be ignorant or unsafe.

I didn’t answer her. All I could have said was I don’t know, a sentence that was becoming a kind of witness to our own ignorance or incompetence. Or both.

I looked not for shooting stars but for fixed ones, and I would try to imagine what kind of life lived in those celestial tidal pools so far from us.

I had long ago stopped believing in promises. Biological imperatives, yes. Environmental factors, yes. Promises, no.

In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.

Stay present for the “now” of your life. It’s your “point of power.

European emigrants and their descendants are all over the place, which requires explanation.

Do not think that your magic ring will work if you are not yourself Solomon.

You know, one of the classics when somebody invents something, you go why the hell didn't I think of that.

Canada's Far North is where I knew I had to go.

There's art on the show that's really bad - these cliché Abstract Expressionist gestural things. It's almost like extensions of my performance, because in the scene I'm really mad.

Writers are damned liars. Every single one of them.

You have to experience grace to be one who knows how to give it.

I advance all of my canvas at one time.