Friends. They aren’t any such thing as good friend or bad friend. Maybe there are just friend. People who stand by you when you're hurt and who helped you feel not so lonely. Maybe there are worth being scared for and hoping for and living for. Maybe worth dying for too. If that what has to be. No bad friends. Only people you want. Need to be with. People who build their houses in your heart.

Life was such a wheel that no man could stand upon it for long. And it always, at the end, came round to the same place again.

Good luck is just bad luck with its hair combed.

On the subject of love at first sight, I’m with the Beatles: I believe that it happens all the time.

If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that's all.

They were close to the end of the beginning . . .

Our time here is brief, our risk enormous. Don't waste the one or increase the other, if you please.