Rescue someone unwilling to look after himself, and he will cling to you like a dangerous illness.

As the tenor roars his passion, I think sadly of my spreading middle, and his.

Guilt agonizes over trifles, ignores habitual wrongdoing.

I want to appear ordinary, but I have it understood that I am not.

As soon as I hear of a right, I want it.

The psychiatrist's office: the only place I can be sure my story will be treated as sad, but interesting.

Strict rules of evidence would destroy psychoanalysis and literary criticism.