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When I'm not working, I dress like a surfer. I look like I'm going to come into your house and clean your pool.
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You're my all-in Della. I'll throw it all away for you. I just want you. I'm all in, baby. This life with you, I'm planning on us.
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I'm planning my most ambitious tattoo yet. You can never have enough tats.
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What were you going to do with it?†McCain asked. "I just thought it might come in useful.†"Were you planning to attack me?†"No. But that’s a good idea.
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A first-rate organizer is never in a hurry. He is never late. He always keeps up his sleeve a margin for the unexpected.
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He who is completely sanctified, or cleansed from all sin, and dies in this state, is fit for glory.
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Society likes to file you away, put you in this or that category. And I never fit any category. Maybe that's why I was left out of a lot of things, or why my work was not really understood, because there was no precedent for it.
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To endow clock time with numinous meaning [is] hardly a fit occupation for an intelligent person.
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When an artist explains what he is doing, he usually has to do one of two things: either scrap what he has explained, or make his work fit in with the explanation.
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You get into the habit of being angry and hurt by life, and then when something good happens you can't accept it because it doesn't fit the pattern.
