To one's enemies: "I hate myself more than you ever could.

Being incomprehensible offers unparalleled protection against having nothing to say...but writing with simplicity requires courage, for there is a danger that one will be overlooked, dismissed as simpleminded by those with a tenacious belief that the impassable prose is a hallmark of intelligence.

You normally have to be bashed about a bit by life to see the point of daffodils, sunsets and uneventful nice days.

Maturity: knowing where you're crazy, trying to warn others of the fact and striving to keep yourself under control.

Every time we feel satisfied with what we have, we can be counted as rich, however little we may actually possess.

One kind of good book should leave you asking: how did the author know that about me?

Every fall into love involves the triumph of hope over self-knowledge. We fall in love hoping we won't find in another what we know is in ourselves, all the cowardice, weakness, laziness, dishonesty, compromise, and stupidity. We throw a cordon of love around the chosen one and decide that everything within it will somehow be free of our faults. We locate inside another a perfection that eludes us within ourselves, and through our union with the beloved hope to maintain (against the evidence of all self-knowledge) a precarious faith in our species.