We can experience nothing but the present moment, live in no other second of time, and to understand this is as close as we can get to eternal life.

I don't want anyone to look to me, not for protection, not for happiness, not for love, not for anything.

A letter is paradoxically the most revealing and the most deceptive of confessional revelations. We all have our inconsistencies, prejudices, irrationalities which, although strongly felt at the time, may be transitory. A letter captures the mood of the moment. The transitory becomes immutably fixed, part of the evidence for the prosecution or the defence.

Metaphysical speculation is about as pointless as a discussion on the meaning of one's lungs. They're for breathing.

There are few couples as unhappy as those who are too proud to admit their unhappiness.

Creativity doesn't flourish in an atmosphere of despotism, coercion and fear.

No literary form is more revealing, more spontaneous or more individual than a letter.