I knew that part of friendship consisted in accepting a friend’s shortcomings, which sometimes included his parents.

I began to know that each morning reasserted the problems of night before, that sleep suspended all but changed nothing, that you couldn’t make yourself over between dawn and dusk.

There was no harm in taking aim, even if the target was a dream.

I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.

It seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their special stupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart

What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.

As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.

But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.

Sarcasm is the protest of the weak.

Peace is indivisible, and the surrounding world confusion found no reflection inside me.

We are all born equally far from the sun.

Our perceptions shape whether challenges are obstacles that block our path to success or important arrows that steer us in the direction we want to go.

It's like this, I think: the excellence of a good body doesn't make the soul good, but the other way around: the excellence of a good soul makes the body as good as it can be.

Denial exists because human infants, though equipped with trust-o-meters, are built to trust, blindly and absolutely, any older person who wanders past.

What I'm interested in doing after I get out of the presidency is to make sure that I'm working with that next generation so that they understand you can't just rely on inspiration.

Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul.

That was totally against the runaway

The way I see it, living in New Jersey is a challenge, what with the toxic waste and the eighteen wheelers and the armed schizophrenics." Connie Rosolli

When men in secular life, who might be religious or not, see women being treated as secondary in the eyes of God, they assume that it's OK for them to do it.

I was already a wreck when I went in, and prison nearly destroyed what little was left of me. I was worse when I came out than I was when I went in, and was not positively changed in any way.

Still, the sun was hot. Still, one got over things. Still, life had a way of adding day to day