This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.

Hope keeps you alive.

A good friend keeps your secrets for you. A best friend helps you keep your own secrets.

I guess that's what saying good-bye is always like--like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you're in the air, there's nothing you can do but let go.

I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people-to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole, to see the cause and think it's the effect or vice versa

Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.

How is it possible, I think, to change so much and not be able to change anything at all?

Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.

Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.

And then, just at that moment, when I'm no longer sure if I'm dreaming or awake or walking some valley in between where everything you wish for comes true, I feel the flutter of his lips on mine.

Hunky Heroes, rescuing distressed women, captive princesses, and girls without wheels since 1684. p. 450

My future was a blank slate and only I could write on it.

The soul can do without everything except the word of God, without which none at all of its wants are provided for.

Trouble is part of your life and if you don't share it you don't give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough.

I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort

Where you now stand is a result of thoughts and feelings that you have offered before, but where you are going is a result of your perspective of where you now stand.

I really do hope that the Millennium Summit gives new impetus to the work of the United Nations.

You can't unscramble eggs.

When the Beatles cut old rock n' roll, they were recording music still in their performing repertoire, and besides, they never thought of the music as old.

An eight-mile drive over rain-washed Irish roads in the quick-falling dusk of autumn is an experience trying to the patience, even to the temper, of the average Saxon.

You should never try irony or self-effacing humour.