Books woke me up. Books are my favorite man-made objects. I fetishize their design, smell, feel. And that they can contain such burning, complex communications is a miracle to me.

It's harder to make money when you're not a machine in a massive apparatus designed only to make money, but artists will figure it out.

Every once in awhile, find a spot of shade, sit down on the grass or dirt, and ask yourself this question: “Do I respect myself?” A corollary to this question: “Do I respect the work I’m doing?” If the answer to the latter question is NO, then the answer to the former question will probably be NO too. If this is the case, wait a few weeks, then ask yourself the same two questions. If the answers are still NO, quit.

Mistakes quickly pile up and coalesce into a reputation, and a reputation is hard to shake.

I would sleep 12 hours a day if I could.

With writing and publishing, my only aim is to live in the aesthetic pleasure dome.

Art is the most benign cultural practice, and yet art has an upper bound of personal revelation that is so far away it is basically a horizon.