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

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

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.

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

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?

What we buy belongs to us only when the price is forgotten.

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