The things you own end up owning you.

I had a friend who worked at a hospice, and he said people in their final moments don't discuss their successes, awards or what books they wrote or what they accomplished. They only talk about their loves and their regrets, and I think that's very telling.

Fame makes you feel permanently like a girl walking past construction workers.

Ideals are peaceful. History is violent.

With sons and fathers, there's an inexplicable connection and imprint that your father leaves on you.

There's a constant chatter in our house, whether it's giggling or screaming or crying or banging. I love it. I love it. I love it. I hate it when they're gone. I hate it. Maybe it's nice to be in a hotel room for a day - 'Oh, nice, I can finally read a paper.' But then, by the next day, I miss that cacophony, all that life.

Man, if I can get a burp out of that little thing I feel such a sense of accomplishment.