“...I'm momentarily transfixed, torn between curiosity and fear. I can pull it up the gently sloping mud bank, but then what? Already thought is lagging behind events, as the blotchy brown mass slides up wet mud toward me, its amorphous margins flowing into the craters left by retreating feet. In the center of the yard-wide disc is a raised turret where two eyes open and close, flashing black. And it's bellowing. A loud rhythmic sound that is at first inexplicable until I realize that those blinking eyes are its spiracles, now sucking in air instead of water, which it is pumping out via gill slits on its underside. And all the while it brandishes that blade, stabbing the air like a scorpion...”

“It's like in someways I've been trying to create without first destroying. Is such a concept possible? For too long I have feared myself, fear what I can create. In essence, I have feared creating myself.”

“Because I'm good with me & god, it's the "between me & the parents" part I still have problems with.”

“… that architecture’s dependency, far from being its weakness, becomes its opportunity, with the architect acting as open-minded listener and feet-footed interpreter, collaborating in the realization of other people’s unpolished visions…. this model of the architect as interpretive agent…”.”

“Here I am baking cookies and looking all over the house for you,” she turned her attention to Gabe and uncovered his eyes, “hoping to bring my man something to munch on, and instead I walk in on your crazy monkey sex! Thanks you two, now I’m officially scarred for life.” She swatted the air in front of her, as if she could shoo away the images, and darted over the broken dishes and cookies, up the staircase, with a flustered string of expletives.Gabe watched her ascend the stairway and let out another amused cackle. “Oh don’t mind her. She’s acting like she just witnessed her parents in the act.” Bending down, he snatched a cookie and gave us a thumbs-up. “You look hot, kids. Carry on.”

“If one stretches out the DNA contained in the nucleus of a human cell, one obtains a two-yard-long thread that is only ten atoms wide. This thread is a billion times longer than its own width. Relatively speaking, it is as if your little finger stretched from Paris to Los Angeles. ”

“Racing cars which have been converted for road use never really work. It's like making a hard core adult film, and then editing it so that it can be shown in British hotels. You'd just end up with a sort of half hour close up of some bloke's sweaty face.”