Most things disappoint till you look deeper.
Destruction after all is a form of creation.
It's a good world if you don't weaken.
Pity is cruel. Pity destroys.
When he was young, he had thought love had something to do with understanding, but with age he knew that no human being understood another. Love was the wish to understand, and presently with constant failure the wish died, and love died too perhaps or changed into this painful affection, loyalty, pity.
Beauty is like success: we can't love it for long.
As long as nothing happens anything is possible.
In a mad world it always seems simpler to obey.
He was impregnably armored by his good intentions and his ignorance.
In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!
Morality comes with the sad wisdom of age, when the sense of curiosity has withered.
You cannot conceive, nor can I, of the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God.
One's life is more formed, I sometimes think, by books than by human beings: it is out of books one learns about love and pain at second hand. Even if we have the happy chance to fall in love, it is because we have been conditioned by what we have read, and if I had never known love at all, perhaps it was because my father's library had not contained the right books.
Hate is an automatic response to fear, for fear humiliates.
As long as one suffers one lives.
One has no talent. I have no talent. It's just a question of working, of being willing to put in the time.
Despair is the price one pays for setting himself an impossible aim.
There was always another side to a joke, the side of the victim.
There is a point of no return, unremarked at the time, in most lives.
Happiness is never really so welcome as changelessness.
The argument of danger only applies to those who live in relative safety.
Death will come in any case, and there is a long afterwards if the priests are right and nothing to fear if they are wrong.
When you visualized a man or a woman carefully, you could always begin to feel pity . . . that was a quality God's image carried with it . . . when you saw the lines at the corners of the eyes, the shape of the mouth, how the hair grew, it was impossible to hate. Hate was just a failure of imagination.
Fame is a powerful aphrodisiac.
I can't talk you in terms of time --your time and my time are different
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