Love, like light, is a thing that is enacted better than defined: we know it afterward by the traces it leaves on paper.

After all, spinning is its own reward. There wouldn't be carousels if it weren't so.

The scale and the brutality of our prisons are the moral scandal of American life.

We breathe in our first language, and swim in our second.

The special virtue of freedom is not that it makes you richer and more powerful but that it gives you more time to understand what it means to be alive.

The loneliness of the expatriate is of an odd and complicated kind, for it is inseparable from the feeling of being free, of having escaped.

Frauds master our minds; magicians, like poets and lovers, engage them in a permanent maze of possibilities.

What drives innovation is abundance and ease, not the pressure of scarcity.

Sometimes having a good time can be the outward evidence of a deep re-thinking.

Wit and puns aren't just décor in the mind; they're essential signs that the mind knows it's on, recognizes its own software, can spot the bugs in its own program.

Fanaticism comes in as many flavors as there are human beings.

If we want to go Fast than go Alone but if We want to go Far, lets go Together..adopt the "We" spirit..Life isn't all about "Selfie

The only thing that ever came close to tugging my heart strings is music. I know this because that is the only time I've felt them move.

There should be a device which can detect when the person is getting angry and should not let that person speak till he/she calms down. This will solve so many problems.

But now with the living conditions deteriorating, and with the sure knowledge that we are slated for destruction, we have been transformed into an implacable army of liberation.

Nothing arrives on paper as it started, and so much arrives that never started at all. To write is always to rave a little-even if one did once know what one meant

I think everyone is bi, right? There's no such thing as sexual orientation, or race, or gender. Those are all obsolete man-made concepts.

The White House used to be, everybody looked up at the White House and America and everything, and now I think it's like a house of shame.

Life is a system of half-truths and lies, Opportunistic, convenient evasion.

The bluest skies . . . are in Seattle.

When Emily Dickinson writes, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul,” she reminds us, as the birds do, of the liberation and pragmatism of belief.