The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even the heart's deep need for instruction.

People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.

The repeated lies become history, but they don't necessarily become the truth.

The job of the writer is to look at where he is now and make some sort of emotional sense of it, not only for that moment but for years to come.

There is always room for at least two truths.

The war was about vanity, he said. It was about old men who couldn't look in the mirror anymore and so they sent the young out to die. Was was a get-together of the vain. They wanted it simple--hate your enemy, know nothing of him.

Whatever you say, say nothing.