Maybe it's not love that unites the world, but rather it's broken hearts.
Very few people see their own actions as truly evil,. . . It is left to their victims to decide what is evil and what is not.
Remember your personal demons should be afraid of you, because you are their home, their food, and as you heal, their executioner.
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them.
Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed.
There comes a point when you either embrace who and what you are, or condemn yourself to be miserable all your days. Other people will try to make you miserable; don't help them by doing the job yourself.
We are not made up only of our light and happiness but also of darkness and sorrow. To deny the darkness of yourself is to deny half of who you are, and when you love, truly love, you need to love the whole person not just the part that smiles and waves, but the part that thinks murderous thoughts and knows that pain is both pleasure and temptation, but still thinks puppies are really cute.
It seems to me that the most delightful walk of life is to be found in a household of moderate means, to live there with an obliging spouse and to be satisfied with little.
I don't like losing a ballgame any more than a salesman likes losing a sale.
I read about writers' lives with the fascination of one slowing down to get a good look at an automobile accident.
We live in a dancing matrix of viruses; they dart, rather like bees, from organism to organism, from plant to insect to mammal to me and back again, and into the sea, tugging along pieces of this genome, strings of genes from that, transplanting grafts of DNA, passing around heredity as though at a great party.