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I thought to live on an island was like living on a boat. Islands intrigue me. You can see the perimeters of your world. It's a microcosm.

My dream is to go spend a week on some island with no phone.

I have this weird tropism for islands. Take me to an island as far from New York as I can possibly go.

My love for traveling to islands amounts to a pathological condition known as nesomania, an obsession with islands. This craze seems reasonable to me, because islands are small self-contained worlds that can help us understand larger ones.

I could buy an island. I could buy a private jet - but I have NetJets.

I like islands.

I don't want to go to the Bahamas on holiday. I hate islands. I want to go to Brittany, where it's cold and raining, and there's nothing fancy about it.

My desire was not to pass any island without taking possession, so that, one having been taken, the same may be said of all.

Let me tell you something: if you're on an island for three and a half months and you're four and a half hours by boat from the nearest store, and there's nobody but 30 crew members on the island, I guarantee that you'd be running around without your clothes on.