Those who have a why to live for can bear almost any how. The necessary premise is that a person is somehow more than his or her "characteristics," all the emotions, strivings, tastes, and constructions which it pleases us to call "My Life." We have grounds to hope that a Life is something more than a cloud of particles, mere facticity. Go through what is comprehensible and you conclude that only the incomprehensible gives any light.

Excuse me ... but I reject your definitions of me.

...is the carbon molecule lined with thought?

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

We are funny creatures. We don't see the stars as they are, so why do we love them? They are not small gold objects, but endless fire.

All a writer has to do to get a woman is to say he's a writer. It's an aphrodisiac.

The late philosopher Morris R. Cohen of CCNY was asked by a student in the metaphysics course, Professor Cohen, how do I know that I exist? The keen old prof replied, And who is asking?