I just invent. Then I wait until man comes around to needing what I've invented.

The writer's task is to invent the reality.

He who would know the world must first manufacture it.

Your job is to find out what the world is trying to be.

How do you innovate? First, try to get in trouble. I mean serious, but not terminal, trouble. I hold — it is beyond speculation, rather a conviction — that innovation and sophistication spark from initial situations of necessity, in ways that go far beyond the satisfaction of such necessity (from the unintended side effects of, say, an initial invention or attempt at invention).

The inventor...looks upon the world and is not contented with things as they are. He wants to improve whatever he sees, he wants to benefit the world; he is haunted by an idea.

The best way to predict the future is to invent it” and “People who are serious about software should make their own hardware.

Where there is no hope, it is incumbent on us to invent it.

Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.

I create what I want to see.

I make nonsense of the world to help others make sense of it.

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world.

How can I leave my mark on the world, I thought, unless I get out there first and see it?