I wonder if this is how it feels to grow old. Knowing that time is still passing but you’re no longer a part of it.

It was true—but it was harsh. And it feels like maybe a harsh truth can be as hurtful as a lie.

Every heartbeat a syllable for words I can’t speak, to explain what I want from him. What I want from myself. To know and be known, totally and completely. To be someone worth knowing.

How much dust can a body make? Little specks of death. Measuring life in millimeters.

They (fashion editors) have always been our secret weapon.

I want the situations and plots to be surprising and unusual.

I'm always writing new songs and doing them live, and I may do it for a week or two, and then never do it again.

I mean, most actresses can't host and most hostesses can't act, and that's the general rule in the industry.

I waited at the counter of a white restaurant for eleven years. When they finally integrated, they didn't have what I wanted.

With grace and a keen appreciation of human nature, Nicholas Thompson has written a revealing, moving history of the Cold War through two fascinating men.

I’d be anonymous. That’s what I’d do differently.

What you compose with is neither here nor there, you compose with words, or you compose with stone plants and trees, or you compose with events; the Sheriff's officer, or whatever.

Devil, you've got me all in a whirl. I'm wise to your game.

We like lists because we don't want to die.