No one knows what cuases an outer landscape to become an inner one.

You can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself.

A word after a word after a word is power.

The story as told in The Odyssey doesn't hold water. There are too many inconsistencies.

Knowing too much about other people puts you in their power, they have a claim on you, you are forced to understand their reasons for doing things and then you are weakened.

In his student days, he used to argue that if a woman has no other course open to her but starvation, prostitution, or throwing herself from a bridge, then surely the prostitute, who has shown the most tenacious instinct for self-preservation, should be considered stronger and saner than her frailer and no longer living sisters. One couldn't have it both ways, he'd pointed out: if women are seduced and abandoned they're supposed to go mad, but if they survive, and seduce in their turn, then they were mad to begin with.

After everything that's happened, how can the world still be so beautiful? Because it is.