I kind of wonder if creativity is all morphing into one big thing that's not even art, but something universal and bigger.

Starved for affection, terrified of abandonment, I began to wonder if sex was really just an excuse to look deeply into another human being's eyes.

There are three things we cry for in life: things that are lost, things that are found, and things that are magnificent.

I used to care about how other people thought I led my life. But lately I've realized that most people are too preoccupied with their own lives to give anybody else even the scantiest of thoughts.

With Google I'm starting to burn out on knowing the answer to everything. People in the year 2020 are going to be nostalgic for the sensation of feeling clueless.

Besides, animals don’t even have time. Only humans have time. It’s what makes us different.

Why do most of us make such boring choices for the stories of our lives?