Man who is he? Too bad, to be the work of God: Too good for the work of chance!

Time and distance from the first and second world wars doesn't seem to lessen their horrors.

We use our parents like recurring dreams, to be entered into when needed.

I don't know why I still find it so hard to accept that words are faulty and by their very nature innacurate

there are two kinds of humanity, those who dream and those who don't, and both tend to despise, or to tolerate, the other.

It is terrible to destroy a person's picture of himself in the interests of truth or some other abstraction.

It is my belief that children are full of understanding and know as much as and more than adults, until they are about seven, when they suddenly become stupid, like adults.