Expectation and disappointment are far from friends but they are close relations.

Who we are is who we ACTUALLY are. It's never who we create in order for people to see. You might really hate who you actually are, so then you create a sub-genus type of yourself for other people to see. But that never changes who you are. The sub-genus type won't change your genus. The only way we change who we are is by looking at ourselves in the mirror long enough to make us vomit over our disgusting waywardness and long enough to fall in love with our strengths. But you can't just fall in love with your strengths. You also need to vomit over your hypocrisies and all of your other bullshit. And you can't just vomit, either. You also have to clean it up and embrace yourself afterwards. This is how you change your genus.

The human mind and what we've achieved with it is remarkable. But it does not come close to what we can do, be, see and heal with our hearts

And after that, after the awkward shuffling away of that last thin layer of clothes, words retreated to the sounds they once were. We had sex. A happy entanglement of warm limbs and warmer love. A physical and psychological merging that conjured a kind of inner light, a bio-emotional phosphorescence, that was overwhelming in its gorgeousness. I wondered why they weren’t prouder of it. Of this magic. I wondered why, if they had to have flags, why they didn’t just opt for one with a picture of sex.

Apparently the rarest commodities on earth are truth and honesty.

Men are more resilient than that, I think. Our belief is often strongest when it should be weakest. That is the nature of hope.

All this miraculous hatred. Christ, a man can't eat his breakfast for filling his belly full of it.

Tomorrow I'll suggest the liar lies against himselfSo our condition makes escape impossible? -- we breatheand it's moving air that causes stars to twinkle

Sometimes in life there's no problem and sometimes there solution. Within this space - between these apparent poles - life flows.

Mistaken ideas always end in bloodshed, but in every case it is someone else's blood. This is why our thinkers feel free to say just about anything.

she also liked to remember that there could be no such thing as an intentional imperfection. People are always mistaking something that looks good for something that feels good.

But that, in shutting out the light of day, she had secluded herself from a thousand natural and healing influences; that her mind, brooding solitary, had grown diseased, as all minds do and must and will that reverse the appointed order of their Maker, I knew equally well. And could I look upon her without compassion, seeing her punishment in the ruin she was, in her profound unfitness for this earth on which she was placed, in the vanity of sorrow which had become a master mania, like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, the vanity of unworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that have been curses in this world?