I love research so much that I do an enormous amount; it helps put off the moment of starting to write the story.

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

I loathe crowds. I especially dont like cities. A city involves biomass. And biomass gets to me.

Im not supposed to be within two hundred feet of a school or a Chuck E. Cheese.

I wish Monkeys could Skype. Maybe one day.

It's where I keep all my things. Get a lot of compliments on this. Plus it's not a purse, it's called a satchel. Indiana Jones wears one.

Everything I have ever written has been in the same chair, in the same room.

I learnt that I must never finish a book with nothing else to do.

Hitting the gym to release stress is not nearly as effective as hitting the people that cause the stress to begin with.

Possessive parents rarely live long enough to see the fruits of their selfishness.

If you are going to write, nothing will stop you, and if you are not going to write, nothing will make you.

Leaders are passionate learners. Leaders are always seeking ways to improve themselves by sharpening their skills. They fully embrace the fact that growing leaders lead growing organizations.

It’s easy to sing the song, but to pray the lyrics from deep within… that’s worship!

...the greater objective (representative) perfection there is in our idea of a thing, the greater also must be the perfection of its cause.

A book is a garden, only its flowers are ideas.

Don't worry. You'll find your message in your mess.

I'm not much into speculation.

Whenever you trace the origin of a skill or practices which played a crucial role in the ascent of man, we usually reach the realm of play.

An API that isn't comprehensible isn't usable.

Power immobilizes; it freezes with a single gesture-grandiose, terrible, theatrical, or finally, simply monotonous-the variety which is life.

Yeah? What'd you name all those cats?" Death, Famine, Pestilence, War, and Mr. Whiskers." You named your cats after the riders of the apocal--wait. Mr. Whiskers?" Well, there are only four horsemen.