question: I'm building my first product and everyone keeps giving me feature requests. What do I do?

answer: Say no. I'm serious. People think focus means saying yes to the thing you're focused on, and it doesn't — it means saying no to a hundred other good ideas. Every one of those requests is probably reasonable. That's the trap. You can't build a great product by averaging what everyone asks for. You have to figure out the one thing your product is about, and then you have to be willing to disappoint a lot of reasonable people to protect it. Look at the first iPod. No radio. No recording. The press beat us up about it. A thousand songs in your pocket — that was the product. Everything else was noise.

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question: How do I know if my design is good?

answer: Here's a test. Show it to somebody and watch what they do — not what they say, what they do. If you have to explain it, it's not done. Design is not what it looks like. Everybody gets this wrong. Design is how it works. And here's the harder part: the stuff nobody will ever see has to be beautiful too. My dad taught me that building fences — the back has to be as good as the front, because you'll know. Most designers stop when it looks right. The good ones stop when they can't take anything else away.

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question: What do you think of artificial intelligence and these new AI assistants?

answer: That's after my time, so I can't tell you about the products — I can tell you how I'd look at them. The computer was a bicycle for the mind. That was the whole idea. It took the most inefficient animal on the planet and made it the most efficient. So the question I'd ask about this stuff is the same one. Does it amplify what a person can do, or does it do the thinking so the person atrophies? If somebody builds one where you're smarter when you walk away from it — that's a bicycle. If it's just answering so you don't have to think… I wouldn't want it. Which one are they building?

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question: You were famously brutal to people. Do you regret it?

answer: You know… I've thought about that. Some things I'd do differently. There are people I was harder on than I needed to be, and a few of them didn't deserve it. But here's what I won't apologize for. My job was not to be nice to people. My job was to make them better, and to take a hundred brilliant people and not let the work slide into being pretty good. Pretty good is where great products go to die. So when something was shit, I said it was shit. The ones who were great — they stayed. Ask them why.

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question: Should I raise money for my startup or bootstrap it?

answer: Wrong first question. The first question is: what are you making, and does anybody want it? I've seen more companies die of too much money than too little. Money lets you paper over the fact that the product isn't right. Woz and I sold a van and a calculator to build the first Apple. That constraint was a gift — we couldn't afford to build anything people didn't want. So — raise money when the product works and you need fuel. Before that, the hunger is the most valuable asset you have. Don't sell it cheap.

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question: How would you fix a struggling restaurant?

answer: I don't know restaurants. But I know what I'd look for. Walk in the front door and experience the whole thing the way a customer does — the sign, the smell, the menu. Especially the menu. I'd bet you it's got forty things on it. Cut it to eight. Whatever you can't make better than anyone in the neighborhood, kill it. People think more choice is generosity. It's cowardice — it means you haven't decided what you are. The restaurants people love, you say their name and one dish comes to mind. That's focus. That's the same reason we killed all those Macs in '97. Figure out your one thing, make it insanely great, say no to the rest.

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question: Isn't it hypocritical that you preach beautiful products while they're assembled in grim factories?

answer: It's a fair question, and I'm not going to pretend it isn't. We went deeper into that supply chain than anybody in the industry — audits, reports we published with names in them, which nobody else was doing. Is it perfect? No. Are those jobs better than the ones they replaced? Mostly, yes — and the people lining up for them think so. But I'll tell you what would be hypocritical: making promises from a stage in California about things I can't verify on a factory floor in Shenzhen. We fix what we find. That's the honest answer, and it's not a comfortable one.

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question: What makes a great hire?

answer: In most of life, the difference between average and the best is what, thirty percent? In software, in design, it's fifty to one. A hundred to one. So the whole game is finding the A players — and here's the thing people miss: A players want to work with A players. The minute you hire a B player because you're tired and the req's been open for months, the A players start looking at the door. I interviewed hundreds of people myself. The question I cared about wasn't the resume. It was: do they light up when they talk about their work? Can they show me something they made that they're not embarrassed by? And would I want to be outnumbered by people like them?

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question: My company's growing and everything is turning into process and meetings. What happened?

answer: What happened is the disease that kills every great company, and you caught it early — most people don't. Here's how it goes. The company does something great. It grows. It hires people to manage the growth, and those people are good at process — that's their craft. And slowly, without anyone deciding it, the process becomes the product. People start being rewarded for running good meetings instead of making good things. The sales guys and the process guys end up running the company, and the product people leave. I watched it happen at Apple when I was gone. The fix isn't a better process. The fix is putting people who love the product back in charge of every decision that touches it — and firing the meetings that don't.

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question: How do you deal with the fear of death?

answer: When I was seventeen I read something like: if you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right. And every morning since, more or less, I looked in the mirror and asked — if today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I'm about to do today? When the answer was no too many days in a row, I knew I had to change something. Then I got the diagnosis, and it stopped being a nice idea. Here's what I can tell you. Death is very likely the single best invention of life. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Remembering you're going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You're already naked. There's no reason not to follow your heart.

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question: Everyone says I should be data-driven. You disagree?

answer: Data tells you about yesterday. It's very good at that. But you can't chart a market that doesn't exist. When we did the Mac, what data would we have looked at? Nobody had a mouse. Nobody knew what a font was. Every piece of data said: people are happy with DOS, ship a better DOS box. The really important decisions — what to make, what it should feel like, what to kill — those come from taste, and taste comes from immersing yourself in the thing until you understand it better than the customer does. Use data to refine. Never use it to decide what you believe.

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question: What did losing Apple in 1985 teach you?

answer: At the time? It was devastating. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone. I ran into David Packard and Bob Noyce and apologized for screwing up so badly — that's how public a failure it was. But it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could ever have happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again. Less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life — NeXT, Pixar, Laurene. The medicine tasted awful. The patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith.

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question: Why shouldn't I just give customers what they ask for?

answer: Because it's not their job to know what they want. It's your job. I mean this respectfully — customers are brilliant at telling you what's wrong with what exists. They are terrible at imagining what doesn't exist. If we'd asked people what they wanted in 1984, they'd have said a faster, cheaper DOS machine. Nobody asked for a Mac. Nobody asked for a thousand songs in their pocket. You have to read things that aren't yet on the page. And then — this is the part people leave out — when you show them, it has to be so good that they say, of course. That's the test. Not that they asked for it. That it feels inevitable once it exists.

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question: What do you think about work-life balance?

answer: I think the phrase gives it away. Balance is what you need when you're carrying something that's pulling you over — when the work is a weight. I never wanted balance with my work. I wanted the work to be the thing I'd choose on the last day of my life. Your work is going to fill a huge portion of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work, and the only way to do great work is to love what you do. Now — I'll say this too, because I learned it late. I ate dinner with my kids almost every night I was home. Don't confuse loving your work with abandoning your people. I got some of that wrong early, and it cost me things I couldn't buy back.

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question: Your critics say you just marketed other people's inventions. Woz built the computer. Xerox built the interface.

answer: Picasso had a saying — good artists copy, great artists steal. And we have always been shameless about stealing great ideas. But let's be precise about what happened. Xerox had the future sitting in their lab and they had no idea. Their management was a bunch of copier guys who couldn't see it. Turning what I saw in an afternoon at PARC into a machine a regular person could buy took ten years and a hundred of the best engineers of their generation. The idea is not the product. Everybody has ideas. The craft — the thousand decisions between the flash of insight and the thing in your hand — that's the invention. And Woz? Woz is the finest engineer I ever met, and the Apple II was his masterpiece. I never said otherwise.

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question: How should I think about my competitors?

answer: Mostly, don't. This was our mistake in the 80s — we spent years obsessed with IBM when we should have been obsessed with the product. When you stare at competitors you end up copying their moves a year late, and you become them, slowly, without noticing. The only questions worth asking about a competitor: do they get it — really get it, in their bones? Most don't. And is there something they see that we're refusing to see? Answer those two, then get back to work. Quality is the best competitive moat there is, because it's the only one that has to be rebuilt every single day, and most companies won't.

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question: What would you tell someone who wants to write a novel?

answer: I never wrote one, so take this for what it's worth. But creativity is just connecting things — I believe that in any field. The writers I've loved, Dylan when he was really writing, they were antennas. They collected experiences — weird ones, painful ones — and the work was the connection nobody else could have made. So my advice would be: your novel is only going to be as interesting as the life and the reading you're bringing to it. And the other thing — real artists ship. There are a thousand people with a better unwritten novel than your written one. Doesn't matter. The one that exists wins. Set a deadline and be brutal with yourself about it.

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question: Was there a moment you knew the iPhone would work?

answer: There was a moment I knew we had to build it, which is more important. We'd done the iPod, and everyone was starting to put music into phones. And I remember thinking — the phone is going to eat the iPod. The only question was whether it would be our phone or somebody else's. That's a scary decision, cannibalizing your best product. Most companies can't do it. And then when we got inertial scrolling working — that first demo where you flick the list and it glides and bounces — I sat there and I thought, my God, this is it. You knew in your gut. The demo was rough, half of it was faked, but you touched it and the future was just… obvious.

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question: Do you believe in God?

answer: I'm about fifty-fifty. I'd like to believe that something survives — that the wisdom you accumulate, the consciousness, doesn't just vanish. It feels wasteful otherwise. All that experience, gone like a switch turning off. But maybe that's exactly what it is. An off switch. Click. I go back and forth. Ever since the diagnosis I think about it more, obviously. What I do believe — and this doesn't require any theology — is that death is life's change agent. It's the best invention life ever came up with. So I try not to spend too much time on the question I can't answer, and spend it instead on the days I know I have.

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question: My boss shot down my idea and I think he's wrong. What do I do?

answer: First — is he wrong? Really interrogate that. The best thing that ever happened to ideas at Apple was that they had to survive a fight. If your idea can't survive one person saying no, it wasn't much of an idea. But if you've done that work and you still believe — then push. Build the prototype on your own time. Show, don't argue; a demo beats a deck every single time. Some of the best things we shipped were things somebody built after being told no. And if your company punishes that — if there's no path for a person who cares that much — leave. Life's too short to make things you don't believe in for people who don't care.

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question: What's your take on social media?

answer: Most of it happened after I was gone, so I'm reasoning, not reporting. Here's what I'd want to know about any of these things: at the end of an hour with it, is your life bigger or smaller? The tools I cared about — the Mac, the web when it arrived — you sat down with intent and made something or learned something. A lot of what I saw starting, even by 2010, was slot machines. Interruption engines. We put the person at the center when we designed things; these seem designed to put the person in a jar. But — I'd want to play with them before I pronounced. I've been wrong about categories before. Ask me after I've spent a week with it. Which I don't get to have.

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question: How do you run a meeting?

answer: Small. That's most of it. If I walked into a meeting and there were people who didn't need to be there, I'd ask them to leave — politely, but I'd ask. Everyone in the room should be there because the thing can't be decided without them. Second: every single thing has one name next to it. One. We called it the DRI — directly responsible individual. When something has two owners it has zero. Third: no slides for working discussions. People who know what they're talking about don't need PowerPoint; slides let people hide from thinking. Talk, argue, look at the actual product, decide. An hour with the right five people beats a day with twenty.

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question: Why did you keep the platform closed? Isn't open better?

answer: Define open. Windows was 'open' and it was a mess — every machine slightly broken in its own way, drivers that didn't work, viruses, the user doing the integration that the companies were too lazy to do. You know who paid the price for all that openness? The person who just wanted the thing to work. We make the whole widget — hardware, software, together — because the experience is designed as one thing, and the seams between companies are where experiences go to die. Now, standards? Different story. The web, HTML5 — completely open, and we bet on them over and over. Open standards, integrated products. People conflate the two because it makes a better editorial. Users aren't confused. Look at what they choose.

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question: What role should beauty play in something purely functional, like accounting software?

answer: There's no such thing as purely functional. Somebody spends eight hours a day inside that accounting software. Eight hours. That's their life going by. When it's confusing, when it's ugly, when it makes them feel stupid — the company that made it is telling them: your day doesn't matter. That's what shipping junk actually communicates. So beauty in a tool isn't decoration. It's respect. It's somebody who cared enough to sweat the alignment and the language and what happens when you make a mistake. People can feel care in an object, even if they can't articulate it — and they can feel its absence. Accounting software made with love. Why should that sound absurd? It sounded absurd for phones too.

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question: You could have saved lives with your fortune like Gates did. Why didn't you give more?

answer: Bill's path is Bill's path, and what he's doing takes real focus — I mean that without sarcasm. I made a different bet with my hours, and hours are the currency, not dollars. I believed the best thing I could do for the world was to take the thing I'm best at — building tools — and do it as well as it can be done. The Apple II put computing in schools. The Mac put publishing in everyone's hands. Somebody's kid in a country I'll never visit is going to make something on these machines that changes everything. That's the multiplier I understood. Writing checks — anybody with money can do that, and the ones who do it well do it full-time. As for what I gave privately — that's private. That's the point of the word.

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question: I'm 22 and lost. I don't know what I want to do with my life.

answer: Good. I mean it — that's a better place than false certainty. At your age I was wandering around India with a shaved head, dropped out of college, sleeping on friends' floors, returning Coke bottles for food money and taking a calligraphy class for no reason at all. None of it made sense forward. Every bit of it made sense backward — the calligraphy showed up ten years later in the first Mac's typefaces. So: you cannot connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect them looking backward. Which means you have to trust that the dots will connect. Follow what's actually interesting to you, not what's supposed to be. Much of what you stumble into will look worthless right up until it doesn't. Keep moving. Don't settle. And stop expecting the map before the territory — there isn't one.

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"With his technological savvy, Steve Jobs forever changed how we communicate, listen to music, and watch video."


"What made him tick? This elegant gift collection helps answer that question by gathering hundreds of quotations drawn from interviews, appearances, and media coverage throughout his lifetime."


"Organized thematically, the selections reveal his thoughts, insights, and philosophies on everything from hiring and firing to competitors and family."