Sometimes I think I have felt everything I’m ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I’m not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I’ve already felt.
- Her, 2013
A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP
– Leonard Nimoy
Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most human.
– Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (watch the video)
Charles: Level with me, Red. When are the robots planning to rise up and take over?
Red Robot: Typical extrovert perspective. We’re on your desks. We’re in your phones. We count your money. We heat your homes. We navigate your cars. We time your mac and cheese.
We’ve already taken over everything that matters.
But you’re welcome to whatever’s left of nature!
– R Stevens, Diesel Sweeties
Happy 25th birthday Photoshop. I hate the monster you’ve become, please don’t leave me. You were the killer app for many a photographer otherwise too frightened to touch a computer. Having been a user for under two decades, I must acknowledge the influence of your creators, Thomas and John Knoll on my creative life.
… it looked almost human to me. It looked like if you played it, it would tell you secrets, so I started playing.
– Gayle Forman, If I Stay
(J.S. Bach, Suite for Solo Cello no. 3 in C major: Prelude)
Hey (hey) What’s the matter with your head? yeah…
Hey (hey) What’s the matter with your mind and all your sighing?
Hey (hey) Nothin’s a matter with your head, baby, find it
Come on and find it
Hell, with it, baby, ’cause you’re fine and you’re mine
And you look so divine
― Redbone, Come and Get Your Love (watch the video)
Can’t stay at home, can’t stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool
Down the street, I’m the girl next door
I’m the fox you’ve been waiting for
I once saw a sunset like that, over the lake near the old tanning factory back home. It was winter and I was going back for Christmas break. I remember the light flashing through the trees woke me up, and I pressed my face against the window just before the bus turned away onto the overpass.
If I read a book [and] it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me,
I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off,
I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?
– Emily Dickinson, from a letter by Thomas Wentworth Higginson