Most of life is offline, and I think it always will be; eating and aching and sleeping and loving happen in the body. But it's not impossible to imagine losing my appetite for those things; they aren't always easy, and they take so much time. In twenty years I'd be interviewing air and water and heat just to remember they mattered.

The level of control, that's part of what's so appealing about filmmaking - you have so much control over what the reader, the viewer, is noticing from moment to moment. They can't do that boring boring boring thing as easily.

That's the artist's job, really: continually setting yourself free, and giving yourself new options and new ways of thinking about things.

I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.

Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

I nodded, pretending I was relaxed. I watched the sunlight sparkling on the water and practiced mind-body integration for a few seconds by quietly hyperventilating.

I went to the bedroom and lay on the floor, so as not to mess up the covers.