Confession is good for the conscience, but it usually bypasses the soul.

When a man falls in love, he wants to go to bed. When a woman falls in love, she wants to talk about it.

We come late, if at all, to wine and philosophy: whiskey and action are easier.

I'm afraid to win, and afraid to lose; I hate a draw and can't stop competing; otherwise I'm fine.

Even in the same family, one child will always instinctively know when to ask for things, and another won't.

We catch frightful glimpses of ourselves in the hostile eyes of others.

A doctor recently described to me "benign positional vertigo": it means you get dizzy in certain positions, but you can get over it without necessarily changing the position. Change "vertigo" to "anxiety," and you've summed up the neurotic's plight.