Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.

Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.

Nobody is bound by any obligation unless it has first been freely accepted.

We cannot bear to regard ourselves simply as playthings of blind chance, we cannot admit to feeling ourselves abandoned.

To believe in God is to know that all the rules will be fair, and that there will be wonderful surprises.

Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions.

Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.