Our jobs make relentless calls on a narrow band of our faculties, reducing our chances of achieving rounded personalities and leaving us to suspect (often in the gathering darkness of a Sunday evening) that much of who we are, or could be, has gone unexplored.

We read the weird tales in newspapers to crowd out the even weirder stuff inside us.

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

The greatest difficulty of Travel is that one is forced to take oneself along.

The longing for destiny is nowhere stronger than in our romantic life.

We used to build temples, and museums are about as close as secular society dares to go in facing up to the idea that a good building can change your life (and a bad one ruin it).

We should not feel embarrassed by our difficulties, only by our failure to grow anything beautiful from them.