Friendship is a difficult, dangerous job. It is also (though we rarely admit it) extremely exhausting.

The image of ourselves in the minds of others is the picture of a stranger we shall never see.

To others we are not ourselves but a performer in their lives cast for a part we do not even know that we are playing.

Friendship is a difficult, dangerous job. It is also (though we rarely admit it) extremely exhausting.

Talk about the joys of the unexpected, can they compare with the joys of the expected, of finding everything delightfully and completely what you knew it was going to be?

It is sometimes the man who opens the door who is the last to enter the room.

Of what help is anyone who can only be approached with the right words?