Neurotics are sure that no one understands them, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
Men feel that women somehow drag them down, and women feel that way about men. It's possible that both are right.
Nobody knows the trouble we've seen-but we keep trying to tell them.
Others follow patterns; we alone are unpredictable.
Love requires a willingness to die; marriage, a willingness to live.
If you hate your lot but wouldn't trade it, it's not your lot you hate.
There's only one person who needs a glass of water oftener than a small child tucked in for the night, and that's a writer sitting down to write.
What's for dinner is the only question many husbands ask their wives, and the only one to which they care about the answer.
The neurotic longs to touch bottom, so at least he won't have that to worry about anymore.
Too much money is as demoralizing as too little, and there's no such thing as exactly enough.
Women are the right age for just a few years; men, for most of their lives.
People find it hard to be both comic and serious, though life manages it easily enough.
The soul may sleep and the body still be happy, but only in youth.
Most of our diversions do not so much delay death as accustom us to it.
Women are never landlocked: they're always mere minutes away from the briny deep of tears.
Suburb: a place that isn't city, isn't country, and isn't tolerable.
So long as God reveals Himself, or doesn't, He is behaving like God.
A love that lasts for twenty years may be better than love, but it isn't love.
Affairs are just as disillusioning as marriage, and much less restful.
The neurotic lies awake at night, composing letters to those he hates. He seldom thinks of dropping a line to those he loves.
The neurotic keeps minute track of his enemies; it is only his friends he is careless about.
No woman wants to see herself too clearly.
Whether or not you love television, you've got to admit that it certainly loves itself.
Neurotic quarrels always have the same theme-song: Hate me and get it over with.
Beauty often fades, but seldom so swiftly as the joy it gives us.
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