Towards the end of your life you have something like a pain schedule to fill out - a long schedule like a federal document, only it's your pain schedule. Endless categories. First, physical causes - like arthritis, gallstones, menstrual cramps. New category, injured vanity, betrayal, swindle, injustice. But the hardest items of all have to do with love. The question then is: So why does everybody persist? If love cuts them up so much.

It's usually the selfish people who are loved the most. They do what you deny yourself, and you love them for it. You give them your heart.

I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.

Goodness is achieved not in a vacuum, but in the company of other men, attended by love.

I would like to explain that I consider prayer above all an act of gratitude for existence.

People can lose their lives in libraries. They ought to be warned.

Myself is thus and so, and will continue thus and so. And why fight it? My balance comes from instability.