Only what you choose is what makes you.

Marcii hoped she was wrong, though she knew the odds were slim.Still, in the face of everything, there is always hope.

True beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.

He stood taller, and straighter, and broader, and infinitely more human than anything else Marcii could possibly imagine.

He was like nothing she’d ever known.Marcii hoped she would come to know him, for he was all she could ever have asked for and more.

And yet the night was still fresh: young as new dawn.There was still time for worlds to change, if that was to be their fate.

She has no interest in human quarrels, for they are often petty and always pointless.

Just because he was not a monster did not mean he wouldn’t be treated as one.

If this was what it meant to be human, for now she saw more clearly than she ever had done, she didn’t want to be.

Love is the only emotion so unexplainable and unique, that not even the greatest of writers could hope to contain it within their meagre words.

It was just the way he was made.

Why may we not be in the universe, as our dogs and cats are in our drawingrooms and libraries?

Our ex-wifes always harbour secrets about us that make them irresistable. Until, of course, we remember who we are and what we did and why we are not married anymore.

I definitely want to study film. I'd like to have my own studio one day and just make a lot of movies.

That something so obvious as the vanity of the world should be so little recognized that people find it odd and surprising to be told that it is foolish to seek greatness; that is most remarkable.

'The Show' was the most fun I ever had and the most creative period of my life.

It's so difficult, particularly with an antisocial character. It's much easier if he's already a blank page, but once you've written on him, it's hard to keep him that stripped down.

Anything you can say, think, feel, trust or feel is untrue - is an illusion. The fact that there are these things is an illusion.

Exploding many things under the name of trifles is a very false proof either of wisdom or magnanimity, and a great check to virtuous actions with regard to fame.

I find my familiarity with thee has bred contempt.

Norman Mailer thinks William Burroughs is a genius, which I think is ludicrous beyond words. I don't think William Burroughs has an ounce of talent.