I couldn't allow myself to think about her very long; if I had I would have jumped off the bridge. It's strange. I had become so reconciled to this life without her, and yet if I thought about her only for a minute it was enough to pierce the bone and marrow of my contentment and shove me back again into the agonizing gutter of my wretched past.

To be joyous is to be a madman in a world of sad ghosts.

Every day the choice is presented to us, to live up to the spirit that is in us, or deny it.

A book lying idle on a shelf is wasted ammunition.

Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything they need to be surrounded with sufficient space―space even more than time.

We should not stop to reflect, compare, analyze, possess, but flow on and through, endlessly, like music.

They were painfully clean. But inwardly they stank. Never once had they opened the door which leads to the soul; never once did they dream of taking a blind leap into the dark.