What's the use coming home to get the blues over what can't be helped.

Life is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.

You said they had found the secret of happiness because they had never heard that love can be a sin.

It's a great game - the pursuit of happiness.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see—and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!

We are such things as rubbish is made of, so let's drink up and forget it.

Take some wood and canvas and nails and things. Build yourself a theater, a stage, light it, learn about it. When you've done that you will probably know how to write a play.