We have this weird thing in the world where you don't get insulted for what you do, you get insulted for who you are.

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.

Save your work, you may never know when the light will go off.

You never know who anybody is. Even the people closest to you.

What the heart loves, the will chooses and the mind justifies.

I'm fully aware that things that resonate and become real hits are the exception to the rule, so much so that I've wired myself for failure.

Advances have fallen, generally, for everything except the biggest potential bestsellers. Given all the changes, both economic and technological, SF hasn't done too badly.

Hope. Nothing is more intoxicating.

Wherever men are noble, they love bright colour; and wherever they can live healthily, bright colour is given them—in sky, sea, flowers, and living creatures.

Conscience is our magnetic compass; reason our chart.

Amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics.

My dear, we live in an age of transition.