Sunday is the day people go quietly mad, one way or another.

Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.

You must remember always to give, of everything you have. You must give foolishly even. You must be extravagant. You must give to all who come into your life. Then nothing and no one shall have power to cheat you of anything, for if you give to a thief, he cannot steal from you, and he himself is then no longer a thief. And the more you give, the more you will have to give.

She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn't like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn't stop, and she didn't like that at all.

This is what drives a young writer out of his head, this feeling that nothing is being said.

The whole world and every human being in it is everybody's business.

Nothing good ever ends.