There is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy.

I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

Sometimes I think the human heart is just a simple shelf. There is only so much you can pile onto it before something falls off an edge and you are left to pick up the pieces.

The human heart is the same the world over.

The artist vocation is to send light into the human heart.

Time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart.