We weaken what we exaggerate.

We never forget those who make us blush.

Superstition changes a man to a beast, fanaticism makes him a wild beast, and despotism a beast of burden.

To exaggerate is to weaken.

Our self-love can be resigned to the sacrifice of everything but itself.

We always weaken whatever we exaggerate.

To teach successfully we must tell all we know, but only what is adaptable to the student.

There was no need to analyze the feelings that the people caught in the commission of the amorous act, held for each other, for it was literally written in their hands.

We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don't.

Happiness consists more in small conveniences or pleasures that occur every day than in great pieces of good fortune that happen but seldom.

What if the meek inherited the Earth and we had to defend ourselves from Martians?

I am writing a sequel to The Touch because I want to further explore the Chinese question that I have raised. There will be more about that in a sequel.

I was drinking tea the other day, and I thought: they used to fight wars over this.

I'm not worried any more about changing people's view of me.

It is much easier not to write like a man than to write like a woman.

I got my head bashed in at a demonstration against the Vietnam War. Police were losing control because they were up against a world they really didn't understand.

A writer can do nothing for men more necessary, satisfying, than just simply to reveal to them the infinite possibility of their own souls.