This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?

Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof.

Who makes the world? Perhaps the world is not made. Perhaps nothing is made. Perhaps it simply is, has been, will always be there…a clock without a craftsman.

I felt, if I'm going to react I might as well over react.

I am watching the stars, admiring their complex trajectories through space and time. I am trying to give a name to the force that set them in motion.

Our consciousness, a startling outgrowth of the universe, is possibly its most important part, the fraction of existence that can think, feel, marvel at itself.

To me, all creativity is magic. Ideas start out in the empty void of your head - and they end up as a material thing, like a book you can hold in your hand. That is the magical process. It's an alchemical thing. Yes, we do get the gold out of it but that's not the most important thing. It's the work itself.