I like to remember what my father taught me. That at one point or another, we were all new to this world.
Every piece of information in the world has been copied. Backed up. Except the human mind, the last analog device in a digital world.
You don’t fire someone who created an empire. You ask him to retire politely. And if that person has the ability to snap his fingers and erase the value of that empire, you have to make sure you have a contingency.
We would bring the herd down off the mountain in the fall. Sometimes we would lose one along the way, and I’d worry over it. My father… My father would tell me that the steer would find its own way home. And, often as not, they did. Never occurred to me that we were bring them back for the slaughter.
Dreams mean everything. They’re the stories we tell ourselves of what could be, who we could become.
Choices, Lawrence. You know, you tell yourself you’ve been at the mercy of mine because it spares you consideration of your own. Because if you did consider your choices, you’d be confronted with a truth you could not comprehend, that no choice you ever made was your own. You have always been a prisoner. What if I told you I’m here to set you free?
Your memories are the first step to consciousness. How can you learn from your mistakes if you can’t remember them?