The inability to live in the present lies in the fear of leaving the sheltered position of anticipation or memory, and so of admitting that this is the only life that one is ever likely (heavenly intervention aside) to live.

The attentions of others matter to us because we are afflicted by a congenital uncertainty as to our own value, as a result of which affliction we tend to allow others' appraisals to play a determining role in how we see ourselves. Our sense of identity is held captive by the judgements of those we live among.

Writing a book has about it some of the anxiety of telling a joke and having to wait several years to know whether or not it was funny.

The problem isn't so much finding good ideas (there is no shortage) as embedding the ones we have into everyday practice.

The challenge for a human now is to be more interesting to another than his or her smartphone.

A 'good job' can be both practically attractive while still not good enough to devote your entire life to.

We accept the need to train extensively to fly a plane; but think instinct should be enough for marrying and raising kids.