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

A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.

All of us are mad. If it weren't for the fact that every one of us is slightly abnormal, there wouldn't be any point in giving each person a separate name.

I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on.

We play make believe, pretend to take ourselves and each other seriously--to love each other, hate each other--but then--it isn't true. It isn't true, we don't care at all!

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

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.