You can't trust machines. You can't trust people.

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.

This is my vision-what I imagine I'll pass through on my way to the light. The blue sky, the clouds, the rays of light.

...the man of my dreams is a girl.

Really? It seems too good to be true. I don't trust it. I don't trust anyone.

Your failures and your faults, they stick with you. They glob into ugly, cancerous growths inside you and make you want to die.

Me? I had no dreams. No longings. Dreams only set you up for disappointment. Plus, you had to have a life to have dreams of a better life.

No one ever found out what was happening inside me. How the pain was eating me away. No one ever came to my rescue, or stood up for me.

What's the point of living if you don't belong anywhere?

What you see, isn't always what you get

Is that all I am? A friend?" "Of course not," I say. "I love you." "Am I the only one?" she asks. "Yes. Completely." First, last, and always.

Be willing to listen to the voice of God.

Death is the first and final entry in the book of this life.

Mais, vrai, J'ai trop pleure! Les aubes sont navrantes. What a sad and beautiful line that is. I'd always hoped that someday I'd be able to use it.

The feet of ghosts never touch the ground.

It is far better to be happy than to have your bodies act as graveyards for animals. Accordingly, the apostle [St.] Matthew partook of seeds, nuts and vegetables, without meat.

It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death: ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.

That person is most cultivated who is able to put himself in the place of the greatest number of other persons.

A writer is supposed to have anonymity.

Nature has endowed each of us with a capacity for kindly feelings: let us not squander them on others.

Whose world is this? The world is yours.