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.

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.

I love art and I think I was destined to end up in some aspect of the arts.

Growing up, my mom would watch 'Notting Hill' a lot. She loves Hugh Grant.

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.

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.