It was the first time that I came face to face with madness and feared it and was fascinated by it.

Kindness. The most unkind thing of all.

There are times when the thing we are seeing changes before our very eyes, and if it is a landscape we praise nature, and if it is celestial we invoke God, but if it is a loved one who defects, we excuse ourselves and say we have to be somewhere and are already late for our next appointment. We do not stay to put pennies over the half-dead eyes.

Writing is the product of a deeply disturbed psyche, and by no means therapeutic.

What we forgot as children is that our parents are children, also. The child in them has not been satisfied or met or loved, often.

She said the reason that love is so painful is that it always amounts to two people wanting more than two people can give.

Death in its way comes just as much of a surprise as birth.