If you can tell anyone about it, it's not the worst thing you ever did.

Neurosis is no worse than a bad cold; you ache all over, and it's made you a mess, but you won't die from it.

Puritans will never believe it, but life is full of disagreeable things that aren't even good for you.

Few novels or plays could exist without at least one troublemaker in the group, and perhaps life couldn't either.

The neurotic usually obeys his own Golden Rule: Hate thy neighbor as thyself.

Desire creates havoc when it is the only thing between two people, or when it is what's missing.

My thoughts, I guess, are bitter; who but the bitter have thoughts?