What a strange distance there is between ill people and well ones.
We each live in a private, distorted, individual world - stars turning in space, warmed for a moment by each other's light, then lost in infinite distance.
If we haven't a grouch against Fortune, we seem unable to avoid one against ourselves.
Remorse ... is one of the many afflictions for which time finds a cure.
It's the things you don't do, not the things you do, you feel most sorry for.
A sense of humor is so handy, isn't it? It lets you see both sides of a question so that you never need do anything.