Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.
We are what we imagine ourselves to be.
Just because some of us can read and write and do a little math, that doesn't mean we deserve to conquer the universe.
We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane.
There's only one me, and I'm stuck with him.
How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.
If somebody says, ''I love you,'' to me, I feel as though I had a pistol pointed at my head. What can anybody reply under such conditions but that which the pistol-holder requires? ''I love you, too. ''.