It never got weird enough for me.

The downward spiral of Dumbness in America is about to hit a new low.

Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.

I learned a long time ago that reality was much weirder than anyone's imagination.

Human beings are the only creatures on earth that claim a God and the only thing that behaves like it hasn't got one.

Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested.

America... just a nation of two hundred million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns and no qualms about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.

So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?

Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.

Hope rises and dreams flicker and die. Love plans for tomorrow and loneliness thinks of yesterday. Life is beautiful and living is pain.

The legacy I want to leave is a child-care system that says no kid is going to be left alone or left unsafe.

I could not, as my father's daughter, remain indifferent to all that was going on.

Keeping the daily demands of life in balance is one of the great tasks of mortality. There is no peace for those whose lives are out of balance temporally or spiritually.

I'm hugely proud of being Irish. And I don't even know what that means. I just know that it's true.

The charm of knowledge would be small indeed, were it not that there is so much shame to be overcome on the way to it.

The heart of entrepreneurship is never about what we have. It's about what we do.

The warm and radiant yes of the heart is perfect, like the sun, in bringing all things to life and nourishing all that is truly human.

Nothing in this world is to be feared... only understood.

The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is youth.

poets are privileged to utter more than they can always quite explain, bringing up from the mind's unplumbed depths tokens of the nature of the world we carry within us.