Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.

But magic is like pizza: even when it's bad, it's pretty good.

Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.

Life is a crazy mixture of intoxicating cocktails.

The name of Italy has magic in its very syllables.

I like cooking pasta. Maybe it's that I always wanted to be Italian American in some dark part of my soul; maybe I get off on that final squirt of emulsifying extra virgin, just after the basil goes in, I don't know.

La vie sert à faire des opéras-comiques.

Naught but love makes magic real.

For me, magic can be a story, a game, a puzzle, or a surprise that takes my breath away in a single, furious gulp.

Science is magic that works.

My life is a creative act — like a painting, or a concerto.

What does Karl Marx put on his pasta? Communist Manipesto!

When we work magic, we unlock our creativity.

As my Popo used to say, life is a tapestry we weave day by day with threads of different colors, some heavy and dark, others thin and bright, all the threads having their uses. The stupid things I did are already in the tapestry, indelible, but I’m not going to be weighed down by them till I die. What’s done is done; I have to look ahead.