Like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Most of the confidence which I appear to feel, especially when influenced by noon wine, is only a pretense.

I don't mean what other people mean when they speak of a home, because I don't regard a home as a...well, as a place, a building...a house...of wood, bricks, stone. I think of a home as being a thing that two people have between them in which each can...well, nest.

I think time is a merciless thing. I think life is a process of burning oneself out and time is the fire that burns you.

Revolution only needs good dreamers who remember their dreams.

We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.

How beautiful it is and how easily it can be broken.