In some way, however small and secret, each of us is a little mad. Everyone is lonely at bottom and cries to be understood but we can never entirely understand someone else and each of us remains part stranger, even to those who love us.
It is the weak who are cruel; gentleness can only be expected from the strong. And those who do not know fear are not really brave. For courage is the capacity to confront what can be imagined.
You can understand people better if you look at them, no matter how old or oppressive they are, as if they are children, for most of us never really mature; we simply grow taller.
Happiness comes only when we push our hearts and brains to the farthest reaches of which we are capable. For the purpose of life is to matter, to count, to stand for something, to have it make some difference that you lived at all.