The occurrence of an event is not the same thing as knowing what it is that one has lived through.

The place in which I'll fit will not exist until I make it.

I'm beginning to think that maybe everything that happens makes sense. Like, if it didn't make sense, how could it happen?

No man is a devil in his own mind.

Sentimentality, the ostentatious parading of excessive and spurious emotion, is the mark of dishonesty...the wet eyes of the sentimentalist betray his aversion to experience, his fear of life, his arid heart; and it is always, therefore, the signal of secret and violent humanity, the mark of cruelty.

Freedom lurked around us and I understood, at last, that he could help us be free if we would listen, that he would never be free until we did.

A man's balance depends on the weight he carries between his legs.