Never, ever point out that a woman is eating too much.

That's the thing about a great book. Every time you read it, it's different, because you're different. You've changed since the last time you picked it up, things have happened to you.

Everyone declares that love is irrational, and yet everytime this statement is proven correct, they profess amazement. They seem to assume that love will make an exception in their case. It never does.

Sometimes I wonder if, instead of falling madly in love, we should aspire to fall sanely in love. But then, what would be the point?

People who read books in public places are regarded with suspicion because they appear self-sufficient. When you seem self-sufficient, other people think that you think you're better than them, and they get resentful.

Life is a series of random collisions.

Whining is a form of manipulation. People will give anything to make you shut up.