It was over now, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish I had ever been to think so.

My conscience is killing me, isn't it? And when you're immortal that can be a really long and ignominious death

It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words.

So until we meet again, I am thinking of you always; I love you; I wish you were here...in my arms.

Anger is too pathetic. Anger is as weak as fear.

The truth is, laughter always sounds more perfect than weeping. Laughter flows in a violent riff and is effortlessly melodic. Weeping is often fought, choked, half strangled, or surrendered to with humiliation.

The finest thing under the sun and moon is the human soul. I marvel at the small miracles of kindness that pass between humans, I marvel at the growth of conscience, at the persistence of reason in the face of all superstition or despair. I marvel at human endurance.