Those who live on vanity must, not unreasonably, expect to die of mortification.

Optimism is the last resort of those in deep despair. There can't be any optimists in heaven.

Our only hope rests on the off-chance that God does exist.

One can get very fond of the people one meets in bars. The trouble is they then appear sort of different in the daylight and you realize that taking them with you is rather like taking a goldfish for a walk: not entirely correct, and surprising for the next people you run into.

I have never had much trouble simultaneously entertaining diametrically opposed propositions, and welcome the possibility that this is not because I have one mind and am out of it, but because I have lots of them, all beavering away on their own.

Death is the last enemy: once we've got past that I think everything will be alright.

I have frequently thought that the dead should be buried with all their belongings. It seems weirdly perverse that their clothes should still be here when the people you love best in the world have gone.