No single crisis shapes a generation; but a succession of events, each one bringing its shaping blows to bear.
Love can never explain the loved one, my dear. It is the essence of wild unreason.
People never think about words, they only feel them.
All humans are frightened of their own solitude. But only in solitude can we learn to know ourselves, learn to handle our own eternal aloneness.
With some people there is such a thing as the habit of betrayal.
People bring to what they see and feel, the inner weather of their souls and complexion of their minds.