We must ride this strange torpedo out until the end.

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 miracle is life, time and nature, three sacred gifts, ends with 'e'.

I have more of a desire to write songs about being an independent woman than being in love, songs about getting up and moving on even if I have a broken heart.

The inherent corruption of man can often bring down the best system.

The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game.

Becoming a YA author was actually a very lucky accident. When I wrote the Queen of Everything, I thought it was a book for adults.

I think it's fascinating that there's a whole holiday dedicated to things that we fear and that's so interesting about the nature of humanity.

A multitude of words is probably the most formidable means of blurring and obscuring thought. There is no thought, however momentous, that cannot be expressed lucidly in 200 words.

I don't think that you can fake warmth. You can fake lust, jealousy, anger; those are all quite easy. But actual, genuine warmth? I don't think you can fake it.

I looked for perfection, and I found something better.

I think we can remember our past without valorizing parts of our past that we ought to see as wrong.