It is impossible not to notice that our world is tormented by failure, hate, guilt, and fear.

The mad also laugh, or is that what Freud and the others discovered perhaps, that only the mad laugh?

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

Love doesn't have to be perfect. Even perfect, it is still the best thing there is, for the simple reason that it is the most common and constant truth of all, of all life, all law and order, the very thing which holds everything together, which permits everything to move along in time and be its wonderful or ordinary self.

What a people talk about means something. What they don't talk about means something.

I always know a lie when I hear it, and the effect it has on me is no good at all. I go berserk just forcing myself not to go berserk, just trying to see truth in the lie, to see it in full context, and in a dimension in which it has got to be more than just a lie, possibly the profoundest kind of truth.

Nothing good ever ends.