The Catholic hierarchy has become more conservative. What we don't know is whether [Catholic voters] will become increasingly conservative, or .. stay swing voters.

Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.

You know you’re writing well when you’re throwing good stuff into the wastebasket.

If there was such evil in the world, was it possible that there was good, too?

I am not (yet) facing the problem of emigration. I want my music to be acknowledged here first of all, in this country: after that, we shall see - perhaps the question will then become urgent.

There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.

Sometimes you really dig a girl, the moment you kiss her, And then you get distracted by her older sister.

What generates war is the economic philosophy of nationalism: embargoes, trade and foreign exchange controls, monetary devaluation, etc. The philosophy of protectionism is a philosophy of war.

In your days - things like this happen to you... You get a tap, a nudge, a gentle shake, and life whispers to you, "I know you're tired - but I don't want you to miss this."

However we pass Time, he passes still, Passing away whatever the pastime, And, whether we use him well or ill, Some day he gives us the slip for the last time.

The truest characters of ignorance are vanity and pride and arrogance.

Shakespeare, I come!