If you want to do something, one of the smartest things that you can do is go find someone that’s done it and to try to get them to show you how they did it, to show you where the potholes are. What are the right steps to get there? ... And not just in terms of where to go to school, but what are the things that are really tough that you have to overcome, and how did you overcome it.

Don't screw it up. Don't take it for granted. Try new things, even if you're old. Do the right thing, because if you do the right thing, the money will follow. Decide what you stand for. Finally, don't worry about being cool—be warm.

I wish I had known how to “manage up.” I wish I had not believed that my work would speak for itself; the working world requires a bit more than that.

Do a deep reflection on what exactly went wrong and write it down. Please don't do that lazy analysis where you just blame government, the economy, the markets, fundraising etc. It might have been a contributing factor and you should reflect that but please do that uncomfortably deep and introspective work of figuring out where *YOU* the founder went wrong.

I remember the awakening that occurred in me when I read, for the first time, Franz Kafka. ... That morning I was happy. I wanted to run out and embrace them, all these garbage collectors, because they taught me that there was another world than the world of Kafka, which is absurd and desperate, and despairing.

After the war — I was 15 when I entered the camp, I was 16 when I left it, and all of a sudden you become an orphan and you have no one. I had a little sister and I knew, with my mother the first night, that they were swept away by fire. My older sisters I discovered by accident after the war in Paris, where I was in an orphanage. But to be an orphan — you can become an orphan at 50, you are still an orphan. Very often I think of my father and my mother. At any important moment in my life, they are there, thinking, “What an injustice.”

Well, naturally, my grandfather. He was a Hasid, meaning a member of the Hasidic community, and I loved him, I adored him. So thanks to him, I became a Hasid too. And my mother — who actually continued his tradition — she’s the one who brought me to Hasidic Masters. And all the stories I tell now — I’ve written so many books with Hasidic tales — these are not mine, these are theirs, my mother’s and my grandfather’s. My father taught me how to reason, how to reach my mind. My soul belonged to my grandfather and my mother. They enriched me, of course. They influenced me profoundly, to this day. When I write, I have the feeling, literally, physically, that one of them is behind my back, looking over my shoulder and reading what I’m writing. I’m terribly afraid of their judgment.

It went from publisher to publisher to publisher. All of them refused it. They gave the same reasons, until a small publisher picked it up. From 1960 to 1963, three years, it didn’t sell 1500 copies. Nobody wanted to read it. It doesn’t matter. I am not here to sell, I’m here to write.