When I've done somewhat scripted stuff, it feels a little flat. It feels like there's not much life behind it.

Once a month, a woman turns from a beautiful flower into an angry hippopotamus.

When life gives you lemons, you exchange them at the store for something more edible.

Be the weirdest little weird in all Weird Town.

Young love is so ridiculous, as is middle-aged and old love. And it's also hilarious. When have you ever felt so vulnerable and wonderful and terrible at the same time?

I feel like I have no real solid plans like, "this is what I'm going to do and I will do it by 2017" or whatever.

I think hard-working people have more opportunities no matter what on YouTube, regardless of gender.

It's insanely difficult to ask an audience to go somewhere other than YouTube to watch videos.

I want to do whatever people allow me to do with great people and have a great time doing it.

I imagine 'Daily Grace' as, like, your awkward older sister who tries to give you advice.

There are no gatekeepers. So all the things we want people to cast us in, we can just make ourselves.

Peace always grows in a loving and compassionate mind.

A fool sees himself as another, but a wise man sees others as himself.

I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are things you get from the silent devoted companionship of a dog that you can get from no other source.

The horrible pleasure of pleasing inferior people.

Shake paws, count your claws, You steal mine, I'll borrow yours. Watch my whiskers, check both ears. Robber foxes have no fears.

If a person's basic state of mind is serene and calm, then it is possible for this inner peace to overwhelm a painful physical experience.

Men will cease to be fools only when they cease to be men.

Civilisation has, indeed, become a slaughtering-car crowned by a grinning effigy of Comfort, before which man blindly and voluntarily hurls himself in his own ignorance.

Emma, I'm sorry, I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a nightie.

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.