I feel that the only true security I have is my capacity, however limited, to love.

If there were no nobodies, The somebodies would not have anybody, To convince that they were somebody, Except some other somebody, Who would not be convinced anyway.

How unfortunate it is to be constrained by what people might say at our funeral or on our gravestone.

How often have I tried just hard enough so that I can then say to myself that I tried with the real purpose of assuaging my guilt about something I did not wish to succeed in the first place?

On the whole I feel that life has treated me rather well, but I sometimes wonder how well have I treated life.

Everything I do or say will be forgotten in a few short years. Yet how amazing and wonderful it is that somehow I still care, just simply care about whatever I do, and will probably do so until my dying moment.

Before I can accept someone's help, I must accept their presence.