Art makes us feel less alone. It makes us think: somebody else has thought this, somebody else has had these feelings.

I am but a stranger ... as we all are. Lonely inside our separate skins, we cannot know each others pain and must bear our own in solitude. For my part, I have found that walking soothes it; and that, given luck, sometimes we find one to walk besides us ... at least for a little way.

You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it.

Please! Don't all leave. Somebody has to do it, don't you see? Somebody has to save the world.

Most of the people who get sent to die in wars are young men who've got a lot of energy and would probably rather, in a better world, be putting that energy into copulation rather than going over there and blowing some other young man's guts out.

I'm the idea of the human imagination, which, when you think about it, is the only thing we can really be certain ISN'T imaginary.

The magician to some degree is trying to drive him or herself mad in a controlled setting, within controlled laws.