I still get my news from the newspaper in the morning. I just have an affection for paper, and that's no secret, I guess.

I have no idea how people function without near-constant internal chaos. I'd lose my mind.

In hospitals I feel palpable comfort. I feel the competence, the expertise, so much education and money, all of the supplies sterile, everything packaged, sealed tight. My fears evaporate when the automatic doors shush open.

We must do extraordinary things. We have to. It would be absurd not to.

Recently, I've discovered Radiohead and find them to be quite good. So clearly, I'm some kind of musical retard. (Jonathan Ames, Middle-American Gothic)

So I should be aware of the dangers of self-consciousness, but at the same time, I’ll be plowing through the fog of all these echoes, plowing through mixed metaphors, noise, and will try to show the core, which is still there, as a core, and is valid, despite the fog. The core is the core is the core. There is always the core, that can’t be articulated. Only caricatured.

If your hand doesn't work for it, your heart doesn't feel sorry for it.