Love is an incurable disease. In love, there is permanent suffering. Those who love and those who are happy are not the same.

Mental health: having enough safe places in your mind for your thoughts to settle.

Although I don't believe in God, Bach's music shows me what a love of God must feel like.

What we seek, at the deepest level, is inwardly to resemble, rather than physically to possess, the objects and places that touch us through their beauty.

There is a devilishly direct relationship between the significance of an idea and how nervous we become at the prospect of having to think about it.

Though it may feel otherwise, enjoying life is no more dangerous than apprehending it with continuous anxiety and gloom.

Life gives us no such handy markers - a storm comes, and far from this being a harbinger of death and collapse, during its course a person discovers love and truth, beauty and happiness, the rain lashing at the windows all the while.