The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine.

In youth we are plagued by desire; in later years, by the desire to feel desire.

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.

We are never more self-righteous than when giving up what we should have shunned all along.

The neurotic is always half-drowning in anxiety, and always being half-rescued.

In the theater, as in life, we prefer a villain with a sense of humor to a hero without one.

We are all such a waste of our potential, like three-way lamps using one-way bulbs.