In a world like this one, only the random makes sense.

Oh, sure. Of course, they say now that we’ve got Freud and the motorcar, God is dead.” “He’s not dead; just very tired.

Tonight, she went into the woods, and I fear she shall live in the woods of my soul for the rest of my days.

A guy's gotta live, you know, gotta make his way and find his meaning in life and love, and to do that he needs coffee, he needs coffee and coffee and coffee.

In books, the truth makes everything good and fine. The good prevail. The wicked are punished. There is happiness. But it's not like that really, is it?" "No," I say. "I suppose it only makes everything known.

...dreams were dreams and reality was reality and she felt people were better off understanding the difference.

True affection and love have a purity which shall always prevail over bigotry.