The cave art of Madison Avenue has been by far the most innovative and educative art form of the twentieth century.

World War III is a guerrilla information war with no division between military and civilian participation.

There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.

As technology advances, it reverses the characteristics of every situation again and again. The age of automation is going to be the age of 'do it yourself.'

Obsolescence never meant the end of anything, it's just the beginning.

Publication is a self-invasion of privacy.

Madison Avenue is a very powerful aggression against private consciousness. A demand that you yield your private consciousness to public manipulation.

The modern Little Red Riding Hood, reared on singing commercials, has no objection to being eaten by the wolf.

The computer is the most extraordinary of man's technological clothing; it's an extension of our central nervous system. Beside it, the wheel is a mere hula-hoop.

We look at the present through a rear view mirror. We march backwards into the future.

In an age of multiple and massive innovations, obsolescence becomes the major obsession.

Yes, I travel in unusual circles. George Osborne and his wife Frances are my cousins.

To make pictures big is to make them more powerful.

Kids can amuse themselves with almost anything.

Everyone gets the feeling that they know you and they know your life, and I felt really embarrassed by that.

It's a poore stake that cannot stand one yeare in the ground.

Democracies can't handle austerity measures very well.

Style is besides the point. Nobody would pay attention if one always said the same thing, in the same words and the same tone of voice.

Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings, saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

I believed in happily ever after as much as anyone, because Jane Austen, Prince Charming, and Hugh Grant promised me it could happen. But maybe that particular delusion was universal.

You don't want to look back at your years with regrets. Regrets have no place in your memory jar.