I think to feel this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

Your love to others, and their love for you, that the increase of love in life itself around you, is what matters.

Everything we do in life, we do with certain expectations.

That process by which you become a writer is a pretty lonely one. We don't have a group apprenticeship like a violinist might training for an orchestra.

As if it were our very birthright, which we could not come to grasp the meaning of until this time of middle life when we looked on only as many years ahead as already lay behind us.

We’re going to die and not even know. We’ll never know, and all this meaninglessness will just go on and on and on. And we won’t any longer be witnesses to it. We won’t have even that little bit of power to give meaning to it in our minds. We’ll just be gone, dead, dead, dead, without ever knowing!

You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.