A year's a long time, but it also flickers past in no time at all.

Everything becomes closer once you realize that the world is only as far away as a nap and a meal.

When you say something or sing something enough times, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's almost like casting spells. I don't mean necessarily in the flighty, 'I'm going to go buy a cloak with a hood now' way.

I like being swept up in weather and observing it as something beautiful and giant. It makes you feel so minute. The only thing as big as that are your thoughts about it, which can expand exponentially while your physical self is just trapped. It's a pretty awesome feeling, in the original sense of the word.

I never really lived outside of the city growing up, but I'm always looking in between the lines of the city, and I magnetize over to the green spots.

Instead of just looking back, whiplash-style, I can assume there's something else coming. Time just folds over itself, like origami.

I love storms and how the whole house shakes. When I was a kid, there would be lots of thunder and lightning storms, and they would knock the electricity out. We had this oil lantern that had been in my grandfather's homestead at the turn of the century, before there even was electricity. He'd bring it down off the top shelf, and we'd always play cards.