The sick soon come to understand that they live in a different world from that of the well and that the two cannot communicate.

The conversation of two people remembering, if the memory is enjoyable to both, rocks on like music or lovemaking. There is a rhythm and a predictability to it that each anticipates and relishes.

One can write out of love or hate. Hate tells one a great deal about a person. Love makes one become the person. Love, contrary to legend, is not half as blind, at least for writing purposes, as hate. Love can see the evil and not cease to be love. Hate cannot see the good and remain hate. The writer, writing out of hatred, will, thus, paint a far more partial picture than if he had written out of love.

The source of one's joy is also often the source of one's sorrow.

Nothing is so dear as what you're about to leave.

I've done more harm by the falseness of trying to please than by the honesty of trying to hurt.

In their sympathies, children feel nearer animals than adults