There is, happily, no limit to the faith of human nature in believing what it wants to believe.

If happiness comes at all: which is by no means prearranged; it comes by the way, while you are seeking for something else. Something outside yourself, beyond yourself: in a brief absorption of self-forgetfulness.

But the true evil of drink lies in the disillusion: that the initial pleasure very soon evaporates, leaving a demoralizing craving for more, which is not even temporarily pleasurable. Which then leads to deterioration of the faculties of both body and mind; plus a bewildering lack of co-operation between the two.

There is, happily, no limit to the faith of human nature in believing what it wants to believe.

I am unable, mentally incapable, of relating the dead thing, the broken body refusing to divulge why or where the occupant has gone, to the thing that was alive.

Between threading a needle and raving insanity is the smallest eye in creation.

There is a great gulf between the really creative person and normal people. The totally creative person does not have the rest of his life in proper proportion.