Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn't.
There is an alchemy in sorrow. It can be transmuted into wisdom, which, if it does not bring joy, can yet bring happiness.
Guard your honor. Let your reputation fall where it will. And outlive the bastards.
Where we have strong emotions, we're liable to fool ourselves.
Health consists of having the same diseases as one's neighbors.
Sorrow was like the wind. It came in gusts.
He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.