Compassion for our parents is the true sign of maturity.

The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human breath blinding a mirror.

I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.

it was while helping others to be free that I gained my own freedom.

The complaints of the child in us will never cease lamenting until it is consoled, answered, understood. Only then will it lie still in us, like our fears. It will die in peace and leave us what the child leaves to the man - the sense of wonder.

Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.

The unconscious can become destructive if it is disregarded and thwarted.