I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.

What uneasiness lies in being loved.

For someone like myself in whom the ability to trust others is so cracked and broken that I am wretchedly timid and am forever trying to read the expression on people's faces.

The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness

A true artist is an ugly man.

Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm.

But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.

Victims. Victims of a transitional period of morality. That is what we both certainly are.

Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.

Addiction is perhaps a sickness of the spirit.

I want to spend my time with people who don't look to be respected. But such good people won't want to spend their time with me.

Pride must die in you, or nothing of heaven can live in you.

As a child, I was bonkers for Christmas. The entire month of December, I couldn't sleep at night from anticipation.

The one you love leans forward, smiles, deceives you, Opens a door through which you see dark dreams.

I try to stay in shape just to handle things like the stress of a job or everyday life.

The reality of the world we live in is that people sometimes aren't interested in many circumstances; no matter how much young radicals yell at them, that isn't what they want to do right now.

Though the worship of riches is an old religion, there has never been a danger that it might become the sole religion. And yet that is what is surely going to happen in the world.

I guess we're all one phone call from our knees

I agree with Thomas Jefferson, who once wrote that he would support the death penalty only when the infallibility of human judgment had been demonstrated.

Doorbells are like a magic game, Or the grab-bag at a fair -- You never know when you hear one ring Who may be waiting there.

A friend is long sought, hardly found, and with difficulty kept.