Only one person in a thousand knows the trick of really living in the present. Most of us spend fifty-nine minutes an hour living in the past, with regret for lost joys or shame for things badly done (both utterly useless and weakening) or in a future which we either long for or dread. . . . There is only one minute in which you are alive, this minute, here and now. The only way to live is by accepting each minute as an unrepeatable miracle. Which is exactly what it is-a miracle and unrepeatable.
The only way to live is to accept each minute as an unrepeatable miracle, which is exactly what it is: a miracle and unrepeatable.
Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed.
There is only one world; the world pressing against you at this minute. There is only one minute in which you are alive; this minute here and now. The only way to live is by accepting each minute as an unrepeatable miracle.
Only one person in a thousand knows the trick of really living in the present.
Hope is a talent like any other.
The strangest thing about life is not its frightful cruelty, but that it can be gentle.
For what I have received may the Lord make me truly thankful. And more truly for what I have not received.
I am never happier than when I am alone in a foreign city; it is as if I had become invisible.
Surprise will be my last emotion, not fear.
There is as much vanity in self-scourgings as in self-justification.
Nothing lasts. Not even a great sorrow.
Nationalism will keep its venom until we succeed in creating an image of the nations of the whole world as so many provinces.
Language is memory and metaphor.
War, for any cause, is inexcusable. There is nothing which excuses us for the beastly ingenuity of our wars. Only fools, only the diseased, think that we are served by killing the strong young men with machines.
There is a stage in any misery when the victim begins to find a deep satisfaction in it.
What I do not know and cannot even hope to understand before I die is why human beings are willfully, coldly, matter-of-factly cruel to each other ... What nerve has atrophied in the torturer, or worse is sensually moved?
You can't argue with a raging want. You can, but it is useless.
The impossible talked of is less impossible from the moment words are laid to it.
The young are so much more vulnerable than the old - the stuff is still warm and malleable, it takes impressions.
Writing was a chimney for my blazing ambitions.
Perhaps this is in the end what most marriages are - gentleness, memory, and habit.
Speaking the truth, once you have started it, is too exhilarating to draw back.
She did not so much cook as assassinate food.
The past is able to close round certain moments, as if they were seeds, and deliver them again fresh and living in the present.
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