And I realized a wondrous truth: that knowledge could be our treasure, that there were things humankind knew that we did not, that our conquest need not comprise taking and killing, but could consist of our mutual conquest of ignorance and distrust.

The twin gods, Necessity and Chance, walked among the stars. What needed to be, was; what might be, sometimes was.

The world is seldom so simple that it hinges on us alone.

I was drawn to his aloofness, the way cats gravitate toward people who’d rather avoid them.

Your lies didn't stop me loving you; your truth hasn't stopped me either.

That’s the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark, but play boldly and no one will question you. If one believes there is truth in art – and I do – then it’s troubling how similar the skill of performing is to lying. Maybe lying is itself a kind of art. I think about that more than I should.

Metaphor is awkward, but emotion, by its nature, leaves you no more scalable approach.