Perhaps it's only when people are dead that we can safely show how much we cared about them. We know that it's too late then for them to do anything about it.

We live in a society which salves its conscience more by helping the interestingly unfortunate than the dull deserving.

Work did bestow dignity, status, meaning. Wasn't that why people dreaded unemployment, why some men found retirement so traumatic?

the unforgivable was usually the most easily forgiven.

The secret of contentment is never to allow yourself to want anything which reason tells you you haven't a chance of getting.

Love, always love. Perhaps that’s what we’re all looking for.

Can we ever break free of the devices and desires of our own hearts? Might not our conscience be telling us what we most want to hear?