Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.
Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?
Love is like trench warfare - you cannot see the enemy, but you know he is there and that it is wiser to keep your head down.
To be the equal of reality you must learn how to ignore it without danger.
We should tackle reality in a slightly jokey way, otherwise we miss its point.
There is no pain compared to that of loving a woman who makes her body accessible to one and yet who is incapable of delivering her true self -- because she does not know where to find it.