You gain power by pretending to be weak.

This isn't about guilt or innocence, he says. The dinosaurs weren't morally good or bad, but they're all dead.

For this moment, nothing matters. Look up into the stars and you're gone.

Even if I overcompensate, nobody will ever want me. Not Seth. Not my folks. You can’t kiss someone who has no lips. Oh, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me. I’ll be anybody you want me to be

Peter used to say that an artist’s job is to make order out of chaos. You collect details, look for a pattern, and organize. You make sense out of senseless facts. You puzzle together bits of everything. You shuffle and reorganize. Collage. Montage. Assemble.

Proof that no investment is yours forever.

The amazing miracle of death, when one second you're walking and talking, and the next second you're an object.