I gathered we were headed over Nob Hill, and from the angle, it seemed we were taking one of the steeper routes.
Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of traveling.
Go through your phone book, call people and ask them to drive you to the airport. The ones who will drive you are your true friends. The rest aren't bad people; they're just acquaintances.
Maybe the most any of us can expect of ourselves isn't perfection but progress.
The next time a car appeared down Market Street, I stepped right out into the road, waving my arms over my head, shouting.
The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.
I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!