When we are not sure, we are alive.

At one with the One, it didn't mean a thing besides a glass of Guinness on a sunny day.

You cannot control what you love--you watch it driving recklessly towards the broken bridge, the torn-up track, the horror of seventy years ahead.

As long as one suffers one lives.

Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.

I measured love by the extent of my jealousy.

There is a point of no return, unremarked at the time, in most lives.