You shall love your crooked neighbour, with your crooked heart.

Look if you like, but you will have to leap.

An unmanly sort of man whose love life seems to have been largely confined to crying in laps and playing mouse.

A poet feels the impulse to create a work of art when the passive awe provoked by an event is transformed into a desire to express that awe in a rite of worship.

Human beings are, necessarily, actors who...can be divided...into the sane who know they are acting and the mad who do not.

That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.

Thank God for books as an alternative to conversation.