I would love to go to Paris. I have to go to Paris. I would love to go there, that's like my dream.

When I go home, I play with my baby dolls and strollers and stuffed animals, pretend like they're real dogs.

I like playing characters with as many emotions as possible. I'd love to play a really crazy person - someone truly out of her mind.

I love the '70s, I'm very into that right now. The long Chloe dresses, very Virgin Suicides.

If people say "no" to you and it's something you really want to do, keep going and you'll succeed.

I'm pretty good with not being afraid to just go up to people and introduce myself.

If I asked you, "Do you think you're beautiful?" everyone should say yes.

I would like to continue acting. But also - if this is a dream world where everything could become true - I'd want to be a ballerina.

It's fun because you can escape and learn about what other people's minds have created. It inspires you to think maybe you could come up with a creature yourself. I like that.

Everyone should love themselves, should think that they're beautiful.

We're constantly taking pictures of ourselves. It's a bit scary, because images are essentially dead, so we judge beauty on something that isn't alive.

The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red.

I'm leaving the door partly open, " he says as he follows Tegan. "You scream if you need me."Once he is outside, Richard says, "He does realize that if he hears your scream, it's already too late.

I am exploring the beautiful world.

I try not to judge people. It's wrong and unfair and a terrible way to go about being a human.

Don't expect ambiguities, hesitations or palace intrigues from me.

The beginnings of a forest is one of the ugliest things on the planet. It's bleak and your neighbours hate you.

One must from time to time attempt things that are beyond one's capacity.

We live equally out of our bodies and out of our minds.

Marketing is no longer about the stuff that you male, but about the stories you tell.

Thought, true labor of any kind, highest virtue itself, is it not the daughter of Pain?