We semaphore from ship to ship, but they're sinking, too.

We are like people with short-term leases on summer cottages; we can never seem to make our provisions come out even with our stay.

The neurotic feels as though trapped in a gas-filled room where at any moment someone, probably himself, will strike a match.

Life is a mixed blessing, which we vainly try to unmix.

At night, neurotics may toil not, but oh how they spin!

The chief reason for drinking is the desire to behave in a certain way, and to be able to blame it on alcohol.

It does not undo harm to acknowledge that we have done it; but it undoes us not to acknowledge it.