It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

They like to tell us that it is important to speak the truth, but it has been my experience that real happiness lies in having people tell you what you want to believe, usually not the same thing at all, and if you have to stub your toe on the truth later, so be it.

Me, feeling. What a concept.

What do you want a clock for?” “To find out what time it is,” I said. “I think that’s the usual purpose.

Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?

I don't know if you have noticed this, but it is quite possible for two human beings to have a conversation in which one or both parties involved has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

Nothing else loves me, or ever will. Not even - especially - me. I know what I am and that is not a thing to love.