You can't go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.

When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. I fear the disease is incurable.

When a condition or a problem becomes too great, humans have the protection of not thinking about it. But it goes inward and minces up with a lot of other things already there and what comes out is discontent and uneasiness, guilt and a compulsion to get something--anything--before it is all gone.

But a man needs company.

Are cats strange animals or do they so resemble us that we find them curious as we do monkeys?

But most important of all, the truth, that dangerous stuff, became beautiful and more precious.

You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.