W. Somerset Maugham

From old habit, unconsciously he thanked God that he no longer believed in Him.

Insensibly he formed the most delightful habit in the world, the habit of reading: he did not know that thus he was providing himself with a refuge from all the distress of life; he did not know either that he was creating for himself an unreal world which would make the real world of every day a source of bitter disappointment.

He knew that all things human are transitory and therefore that it must cease one day or another. He looked forward to that day with eager longing. Love was like a parasite in his heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life's blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else.

The secret to life is meaningless unless you discover it yourself.

A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her...but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account.