Love makes the air light.

...hate suits him better than forgiveness. Immersed in hate, he doesn't have to do anything; he can be paralyzed, and the rigidty of hatred makes a kind of shelter for him.

Americans have been conditioned to respect newness, whatever it costs them.

In fact we do not try to picture the afterlife, nor is it our selves in our nervous tics and optical flecks that we wish to perpetuate; it is the self as the window on the world that we can't bear to thinkof shutting. My mind when I was a boy of ten or eleven sent up its silent scream at the thought of future aeons -- at the thought of the cosmic party going on without me. The yearning for an afterlife is the opposite of selfish: it is love and praise of the world that we are privileged, in this complex interval of light, to witness and experience.

Being a divorcee in a small town is a little like playing Monopoly; eventually you land on all the properties.

Hope bases vast premises on foolish accidents, and reads a word where in fact only a scribble exists.

There's always something new by looking at the same thing over and over.