Our worst fear isn't the end of life but the end of memories.

Remembering is the most overrated thing. Forgetting is far superior.

You know, there's that silly saying 'We're born alone and we die alone' -it's nonsense. We're surrounded at birth and surrounded at death. It is in between that we're alone.

People, it turns out, aren't a product of their own time. They're a product of the time before theirs

Many things embarrass me, but reading isnt one of them. Im not ashamed of my slightly weird collection of prison memoirs. Nor the flaky meditation books. After all, I can pretend I never read those.

The training of a journalist, of working with words for thousands of hours, is extraordinarily useful for a fiction writer.

Anything that's worth anything is complicated.

Art doesn't spring from the muses alone, but from hard work.

We enjoy this illusion of continuity and we call it memory. Which explains, perhaps, why our worst fear isn't the end of life, but the end of memories

But my point, you see is that death is misunderstood. The loss of one's life is not the greatest loss. It is no loss at all. To others, perhaps, but not to oneself.

Did she answer my email yet?' That's the new obesity.

When you miss someone....it’s weird…your body doesn’t function normally..as it should. Because I miss you, and my heart…it’s not steady…my soul it sings numb. Fingers are cold…like you…your soul.

Leaders don't venture without vision. They don't pray without plans. They don't climb without clues. They are always prepared.

Advice for the wise: You"d better bite your tongueRather than cast a spell wrong.

People never learn anything by being told, they have to find out for themselves.

I think the legacy I'll leave on music is just an artist that went out here and gave 100%.

History. The more of it you have the more you have to live it. After a little while there gets to be too much of it to memorize and maybe that's when empires start to decline.

This thing in society that you have to be a stick will always be in my mind, but that's just something I have to deal with.

And did I pass?" The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, "You don't pass or fail at being a person, dear.

What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?

Women... can't live with 'em...... can't shoot 'em