But I want first of all- in fact, as an end to these other desires- to be at peace with myself.

People talk about love as though it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers. And a lot of people give love like that -- just dump it down on top of you, a useless strong-scented burden.

It is terribly amusing how many different climates of feelings one can go through in one day.

How hard it is to have the beautiful interdependence of marriage and yet be strong in oneself alone.

When one is a stranger to oneself, then one is estranged from others, too.

It's funny how you can be mad at someone one moment and want to hug them the next.

Perhaps middle-age is, or should be, a period of shedding shells; the shell of ambition, the shell of material accumulations and possessions, the shell of the ego.