A profound love between two people involves, after all, the power and chance of doing profound hurt.

Scientific truth will out, you can't hide the sun under a stone.

Death and life are the same thing-like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and the back are not the same...They can be neither separated, nor mixed.

There is a limited number of plots. There is no limit to the number of stories.

What the brain does by itself is infinitely more fascinating and complex than any response it can make to chemical stimulation.

You have to help another person. But it's not right to play God with masses of people. To be God you have to know what you're doing. And to do any good at all, just believing you're right and your motives are good isn't enough.

All or nothing at all, the true lover says, and that's the truth of it. My love will never die, he says. He claims eternity. And rightly. How can it die when it's life itself? What do we know of eternity but the glimpse we get of it when we enter in that bond?