Suffering is universal.

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.

Art requires a delicate adjustment of the outer and inner worlds in such a way that, without changing their nature, they can be seen through each other.

What is ordinary to you maybe a desert of woeful newness to another.

Myth is, after all, the neverending story.

When you pray be sure that you listen as well as talk. You have things you want to say to God but He also has things He wants to say to you.

Character is formed, not by laws, commands, and decrees, but by quiet influence, unconscious suggestion and personal guidance.

Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.

In my head, I think I'd make a perfect spy, but in reality, I don't think I'd fare very well.

I can feel you, even though I can't see you.

None but God can fill the perfect whole.

In the end there doesn't have to be anyone who understands you. There just has to be someone who wants to.