Englishmen must have an island.
I get emails from strangers every day asking for love advice, which is kind of counter-intuitive since I'm making a movie about what an idiot I am with relationships.
There’s no key to the universe, you just have to point your way in one direction, keep going, keep going, keep going, and see what happens.
But in the end, I suppose, we only have one life to lead, and the roads not taken would always outnumber and outshine the roads we end up taking, day by day, without plan.
The questions people have are sometimes soulful, sometimes zany, sometimes incoherent. I want to make a 'zine with just the questions I get emailed to me.
In general, I always make it my mission to focus on the one person in the audience who seems to be absolutely miserable about being there and try to convert them.
Every day when I open the mail I encounter a find with a brand-new brew of story and emotion.
I'm hosting weekend retreats all over America. It is like a 24-hour slumber party for moms. We laugh, eat, play games, get massages, win prizes, talk about parenting and even cry a bit.
We must especially beware of that small group of selfish men who would clip the wings of the American Eagle in order to feather their own nests.
Nobody with a victim mentality will get anywhere, ever. They will never succeed.
It is some kind of miracle that all knitting is constructed of only two stitches: knit and purl. Sure, you throw in some yarn overs, and sometimes you knit the stitches out of order, but when it really comes down to it, knitting is simplicity. The most incredible gossamer lace shawl. . . the trickiest aran. . . a humble sock. . . each just made with knit and purl.