Barnacles on the container ship of consciousness.

Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.

Pasta is the one food I can't live without. It's the food I eat to fuel my running.

A summons home to the nature that nourishes the best human qualities of creativity, intelligence, connection, and compassion.

"I'm going to put out something that I believe in, or I'm not going to do it." I'm really scared of putting out a product that people will say, "Oh, that's not as good as the other thing."

What shall I give my children? who are poor, / Who are adjudged the leastwise of the land...

I speak my mind. That's who I am.

The barometer that shows "variable" is an ironic indictment of God.

Patience is a fruit that only grows under trials.

I call it God Light, because it reminds me of heaven.

Life etches itself onto our faces as we grow older, showing our violence, excesses or kindnesses.

Beauty . . . cannot be interpreted. It is not an empirically verifiable fact; it is not a quantity.