My workspace is defined by books, ephemera, quiet and light. I don't have a computer, telephone or a fax machine there.

The most inspiring objects are books. I have about 5,000 volumes in my home library. It's an unending source of visuals and ideas.

I like the brooding man - a brooding man with a sense of humor.

I said, 'Well, how much space do I have?' And they said, 'Well, you know, it's the Internet.'

It's almost impossible to reconcile the realities of how one feels during the day, hour by hour. But I approach things not cynically.

I still do have the little lunch bag that my mother made out of a towel and embroidered with my name on it for when I went to kindergarten.

Soon enough it will be me struggling (valiantly?) to walk - lugging my stuff around. How are we all so brave as to take step after step? Day after day? How are we so optimistic, so careful not to trip and yet do trip, and then get up and say O.K. Why do I feel so sorry for everyone and so proud?