I am a lover and have not found my thing to love. That is a big point if you know enough to realize what I mean. It makes my destruction inevitable, you see. There are few who understand that.

The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.

It may be true of all relationships, not only between fathers and sons, but between men and women. Nothing seems fixed. Everything is always changing. We seem to have very little control over our emotional life.

There is this thing called life. We live it, not as we intend or wish, but as we are driven on by forces outside and inside ourselves.

From being quite sure of himself and his future he becomes not at all sure. If he be an imaginative boy a door is torn open and for the first time he looks out upon the world, seeing, as though they marched in procession before him, the countless figures of men who before his time have come out of nothingness into the world, lived their lives and again disappeared into nothingness. The sadness of sophistication has come to the boy.

The writer, an old man with a white moustache, had some difficulty getting into bed.

Everyone in the world is Christ and they are all crucified.