What we do really affects the world. Most of us think we can't do anything, but it really isn't true.
Who Am I? Or (Perhaps More Accurately) Who Else Could Be Me?
Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.
It's peculiar what you remember when you're not trying.
What's hard to do is describe why you like something. Because ultimately, the reason things move people is very amorphous. You can be cerebral about things you hate, but most of the things you like tend to be very emotive. It's really hard to do a literary reproduction of what makes you happy. That's what I try to do. If nothing else, it seems like there's enough people out there telling the world what isn't cool, or what's terrible, or what's depressing. I think there's an element of cynicism in my writing, but I'm an optimistic cynic.
I really hate being sick. It seems inevitable that at one point, one of these predicted epidemics is going to be real. So often they come up, and there's people like me that are freaked out, and the majority of people are just like, "You're being idiots, this happens every other year. "
I get enjoyment out of writing, but I get absolutely no enjoyment out of rewriting, so I don't do much of it. The more you work on something, certainly, the better it gets. But there's also a pretty clear law of diminishing returns. It drives me crazy to do readings of my books, because if I read anything I've written in the past, I'd like to almost rewrite everything.
In any leadership position, you're always going to be disappointing somebody.
Heightism is the last unchecked prejudice.
Merely corroborative detail, intended to give artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.
It is good and very grand to conquer external nature, but grander still to conquer our internal nature. . . . This conquering of the inner man, understanding the secrets of the subtle workings that are within the human mind, and knowing its wonderful secrets, belong entirely to religion.