The arrogance that says analysing the relationship between reasons and causes is more important than writing a philosophy of shyness or sadness or friendship drives me nuts. I can't accept that.

Our sadness won’t be of the searing kind but more like a blend of joy and melancholy: joy at the perfection we see before us, melancholy at an awareness of how seldom we are sufficiently blessed to encounter anything of its kind. The flawless object throws into perspective the mediocrity that surrounds it. We are reminded of the way we would wish things always to be and of how incomplete our lives remain.

People only get really interesting when they start to rattle the bars of their cages.

What we find exotic abroad may be what we hunger for in vain at home.

One of the best protections against disappointment is to have a lot going on.

I learnt to stop fantasising about the perfect job or the perfect relationship because that can actually be an excuse for not living.

Most anger stems from feelings of weakness, sadness and fear: hard to remember when one is at the receiving end of its defiant roar.