I can't imagine a universe in which I try to unlove her.

I'm dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can't even shine a light on it. I feel like I'm mostly made of mysteries.

I know everyone has dreams of flying, but this isn’t a dream of flying. It’s a dream of floating, and the ocean is not water but wind. I call it a dream, but it feels realer than my life.

Even people who've never seen a miracle can believe in miracles.

I like the sky. It's rational to me in a way that life isn't.

My mom used to call me a parrot, because the way I spoke would change in every country we'd go to.

I've always wanted to have a book published - it was a dream of mine, but the thought of actually writing a book made me feel really sick.

I don't believe government should take over, you know, the grocery store down the street or own the means of production.

It was interesting; it's an interesting photographic problem [those demonstrations in the late Sixties]. But if I was doing it as a job, I think I'd have to get paid extra.

I'd go back to Leeds at any time, but not right now.

There is no royal road to anything. One thing at a time, all things in succession. That which grows fast, withers as rapidly. That which grows slowly, endures.

Why would you stick someone you love down in a lonely hole in the dirt? Where it's cold, and dirty, and full of bugs?

Our truest response to the irrationality of the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find truth.

Non-conformism is the major, perhaps the only, sin of our time.

The purpose of a writer is to be read, and the criticism which would destroy the power of pleasing must be blown aside