Malice is always authentic and sincere.
Judgment is such a useful shield, isn't it? We can hide behind it, rise above others on its crest, keep ourselves safe and separate.
If I weren't a writer, I'd be a psychiatrist.
The woman I was seems hopelessly naive. I envy her.
Today something interesting happened. I died.
I don't believe in mistakes. Never have. I believe that there are a multitude of paths before us and it's just a matter of which way we walk home. I don't believe in regret. If you regret things about your life, than I'll bet that you're not paying attention. Regret is just imagining that you know what would have happened if you took that job in California or married your high-school sweetheart or just looked one more time before you stepped out into the street. . . or didn't. But you don't know; you can't possibly know.
When you're young it's easy to confuse passion for love.
Go inwards. Find your inner space, and suddenly, you will find an explosion of light, of beauty, of ecstasy -as if suddenly thousands of roses have blossomed within you and you are full of their fragrance.
The surprises of thought are like those of love: they wear out. But here too you can carry on for a long time doing your conjugal duty.
Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do. Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.
Human beings any one of us, and our species as a whole are not all-important, not at the center of the world. That is the one essential piece of information, the one great secret, offered by any encounter with the woods or the mountains or the ocean or any wilderness or chunk of nature or patch of night sky.