There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

(Suicide) takes some doing, with maybe pain and maybe hell.

Every man in a bank hates what the bank does and yet the bank does it.

Books are the best friends you can have; they inform you, and entertain you, and they don't talk back.

The craft of writing is the art of penetrating other minds with the figures that are in your own mind.

There is one thing pleasantly unconfusing about medicine. The direction and the end are fixed and the patient never works backward.

To the heavens on the wings of a pig.