But it is said: Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger. The choice is yours: to go or wait.' 'And it is also said,' answered Frodo: 'Go not to the Elves for counsel for they will answer both no and yes.' 'Is i...
Like attracts like. It'll surprise you as long as you live. Choose a love and work to make it true, and somehow something will happen, something you couldn't plan, will come along to move like to like, to set you loose, to set you on the way to your ...
Many of the cataclysmic leadership failures were failures of rationality. The pendulum of leadership development needs to swing back toward the rational: strategy, creativity, foresight, decision-making, and analytics.
We have minds that are equipped for certainty, linearity and short-term decisions, that must instead make long-term decisions in a non-linear, probabilistic world.
Although science is not easy in complex human systems, we cannot afford to throw our hands in the air and give up. It may take decades, but it is a game worth playing and winning.
Pop leadership abuts pop psychology, and is very destructive. In no other serious domain of human endeavor (surgery, playing the violin) is the subject distilled down to nice-sounding aphorisms that mean nothing.
Never write when you are not in the mood; when you are not feeling it. If the words do not flow freely, and come to you almost magically, then put it down and do not force yourself to write in the book, or it will reflect in your writing and it will ...
I was the big sister. I was supposed to set and example and lead the way so people would say, 'Hey, you're Alex's sister, aren't you? You two look exactly alike!' instead of 'Hey, you're Alex's sister, aren't you? Are you crazy, too?' The only exampl...
Leave the cage open. If you love someone, give them a chance to leave. You can always lock them up again should they return to you.
Scoop out my soul with a spoon like it’s a cantaloupe, and I’ll tell you that love is breakfast. And I’d love to make breakfast to Agatha one more time.
I collect information. But not just any information, I collect misinformation. I am the museum of misinformation. I’m also the artist and curator. And Docent.
My name is Davis Davis. And don’t call me Mr. Davis! How would you like it if I called you Mr. Archibald, or whatever your first name is?
We all must die, but only I put the “must” in mustard. Sadly, the only man alive who understands what I mean is dead. RIP Mitch Ketchup.
The x-ray of your skull shows a large, flobby mass floating inside. I have to consult my colleagues to be certain, but it looks like a long sausage snarled into a lump.
I’m not growing old for free. I’m charging myself with the task of becoming someone better every day. And by better I mean younger.
The past is the past. I believe that people can change, under the right conditions (like plastic surgery).
I’m a romantic. I like cold coffee and orgasms that arrive fifteen minutes after I’ve put on my clothes and paid the lady.
For our fourth date, I said I wanted Italian, and she said she wanted Chinese. We decided to compromise and meet at the movie theater after we’d both eaten.
Her dad died unexpectedly, so I hid the flowers, because flowers are reminders of spring and life, and also of headstones and death. Also, I hid the flowers because they were for another woman.
I have thought carefully on how to leave this world, and I have concluded that I should exit the same way I entered: through a vagina. But not my mother’s.
Agatha loved military men. Actually, she loved men in uniform. And my bowling league outfit used to drive her wild with desire.
