Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.

That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.

Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.

History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.

Music is the best means we have of digesting time.

'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'