People will always tell stories. The publishing industry might vanish, but not stories.

When I look at my old pictures, all I can see is what I used to be but am no longer. I think: What I can see is what I am not.

Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there.

The perfect borscht is what life should be but never is.

Belief and delusion are incestuous siblings.

I am itching to criticize some well-regarded writers' works, but I am not doing it because I am perfectly aware that my critique could easily be reduced to envy or just plain meanness.

I gradually became aware that my interiority was inseparable from my exteriority, that the geography of my city was the geography of my soul.

I much preferred winning to thinking and I didn't like losing at all.

You don't want your neurosurgeon to have doubts about the meaning of it all while he or she is operating on your brain.

If you can't go home, there is nowhere to go, and nowhere is the biggest place in the world-indeed, nowhere is the world.

We knew - but didn't want to know - what was going to happen, the sky descending upon our heads like the shadow of a falling piano in a cartoon.

How terrible this darkness was, how bewildering, and yet mysteriously beautiful!

Be in the Now Moment—don’t squander your energy on a past you can’t change or a future which has not yet happened.

Some might claim that like the secret of flying is missing the ground, the secret to immortality is simply not dying.

Except a man fear the Lord, he is unable to renounce sin.

Happy the man who from the sea escapes the storm and finds harbor.

Dreams are manifestations of identities.

They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price.

Edgar Allen Poe really started me when I was 8. I fell in love with everything of his.

People who copy what exists copy a point-in-time artifact, and if you are managing the process correctly you are already hard at work on the next thing.

The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.