It's one of the strangest attributes of this profession that when we writers get exhausted writing one thing, we relax by writing another.

I think all the simple things can and do still work - holding your child's hand while walking across the street will do it. But we can hardly hear it for all the noise which has turned love into a cliche, and most people can't even hear John Lennon's "All You Need Is Love" anymore without wincing.

Pain is an interesting and off-putting thing. Few if any things in life concentrate our attention so completely and terribly, and few things are more boring to listen to or read about.

War must never be a condition but, rather, a temporary scourge which we suffer as a child does a fever, knowing that health follows the long night of pain and that peace is health.

Its hard to die. Harder to live

Life doesn't retreat.

How could anyone stay sane with entire lifetimes stored in one human mind?