We all go through the same things - it's all just a different kind of the same thing.
In writing ... remember that the biggest stories are not written about wars, or about politics, or even murders. The biggest stories are written about the things which draw human beings closer together.
Be the most you can be, so life will be more because you were.
Not having children makes less work-but it makes a quiet house.
There is good and there is bad in every human heart, and it is the struggle of life to conquer the bad with the good.
The only man who knows just what he thinks at the present moment is the man who hasn't done any new thinking in the past ten years.
What we seek we do not find - that would be too trim and tidy for so reckless and opulent a thing as life. It is something else we find.
What is a clock? Something agreed upon and arbitrarily imposed upon us. Standard time. Not true time. Symbolizing the whole standardization of our lives.
To cease to love -- that is defeat.
Those who never sail stormy waters are the quickest and harshest judges of bad seamanship.
What men have thought about life in the past is less important than what you feel about it to-day.
We are living now.
We shall not live long.
No one should tell us we shall live again.
This is our little while.
This is our chance.
Even though you've given up a past it hasn't given you up. It comes uninvited - and sometimes half welcome.
A clock is a little machine that shuts us out from the wonder of time.
Resentment opens no door and breeds no courage.
But mayn't desertion be a brave thing? A fine thing? To desert a thing we've gone beyond - to have the courage to desert it and walk right off from the dead thing to the live thing - ?
Strength diminishes when it seems we are spending it in vain.
... you can't put out a light just because it may light the wrong person.
The facts of another's life do not illumine. Only when we know the heart can we know that life. Only the feeling that made the days can light them.
Some days are happy days - of themselves, as if for their own sakes. They seem to be enjoying themselves, regardless of what use may be made of them.
Hurts of childhood live on; in one form or other they are there to the end.
I go about in the world - free, busy, happy. Among people, I have no time to think of myself.
For nothing is so hard to hear as that which is half known, and evaded. One never denies so hotly as in denying to one's self what one fears is true, and one never resents so bitterly as in resenting that which one cannot say one has the right to resent.
I can't think of any sorrow in the world that a hot bath wouldn't help, just a little bit.
They made small effort to cover their raw souls with the mantle of commonplace words.
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