Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?

I rang my mother to thank her for giving birth to me and she said, "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?

Here's how it is: I feel guilty about every single bite of food that goes into my mouth.

Nothing sinister. Just getting exercise. Although some might consider that sinister.

I had spent my whole life feeling homesick. The only difference between the two of us was that I didn't know what or where home was.

I'm quite introverted but I'm not shy.

Not only was he not mad, but he was a musician, and my favorite men had always been musicians or writers or anything that involved the creative process and behaving like tortured artists. ... I found financial insecurity a great aphrodisiac.