The rest, as they say.

“I’d tell you all you want and more, if the sounds I made could be what you hear.”

“But books, like people, die. They die in fires or floods or in the mouths of worms or at the whims of tyrants.”

A text–a book–is a resting place for the memories of people who have lived before.

All mortals tend to turn into the thing they are pretending to be

It's my experience that we're much more afraid that there might be a God than we are that there might not be.

Anger is our friend. Not a nice friend. Not a gentle friend. But a very, very loyal friend. It will always tell us when we have been betrayed. It will always tell us when we have betrayed ourselves.

There is no such thing as being done with an artistic life

Everybody says they want artists to make money, and when they do, everybody hates them for it

There something existentially scary about finding out how little room you occupy, and how little allegiance you command, in other people’s hearts.

I’ve often thought that the single most devastating cyberattack a diabolical anarchic mind could devise would not be on the government, the military, or even the financial sector, but simply to simultaneously make every email and text ever sent universally public.

While it is said that all is fair in love and war, the dictum is nullified when both love and war occur simultaneously...

“Maybe... it’s that this world is full of lizards, and even though there’s nothing we can do about it, it’s always helpful to find out how big they are.”