If you look at life one way, there is always cause for alarm.

It is not helpful to help a friend by putting coins in his pockets when he has got holes in his pockets.

Everything is very quiet, the streets are never crowded, and the people one dislikes are out of town.

Childish fantasy, like the sheath over the bud, not only protects but curbs the terrible budding spirit, protects not only innocence from the world, but the world from the power of innocence.

Nobody speaks the truth when there's something they must have.

Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. One's relation to them, the daily seeing or touching, begins to become love, and to lay one open to pain.

Meeting people unlike oneself does not enlarge one's outlook; it only confirms one's idea that one is unique.