Perhaps if God existed He would look down upon His creation with the same puzzlement and ask, what do they feel?

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When things have gone hopelessly wrong one simply does not know how to behave.

When we suffer we think everything is a big machine. But the machine is just a fantasm of our pain.

Each loves himself more.

<...>

A human being hardly ever things about other people.

Because I am God. Maybe this is how God appears now in the world, a little unregarded crazy person whom everyone pushes aside and knocks down and steps upon. Or it can be that I am the false god, or one of the million million false gods there are. It matters very little. The false god is the true God. Up any religion a man may climb.

I suppose I should say the male nurse, they way people say women writers, though I don't see why they should, as more women are writers than men are nurses.

How happy are those who believe that they can pray and be helped, or even, without being helped, be listened to.

Human beings are not demons. They are much too muddy.

It was a moment of black blissful death. If was also a moment of absolute certainty.

The experience of falling in love, <...> of realising that one is in love, is itself however painful also a preoccupying joy. It increases vitality and sense of self.

The physical space between them had taken on a new and terrifying significance. The near approach of hands at the breakfast table, the exchange of a book, the movement of a cup, an encounter on the stairs, these things were passages of anguish.

...one goes through life in a dream, it's all too hard.

Человек не может быть демоном. Он гораздо сложнее.

Память его не сохранила чувства любви к Джейни, но факты говорили о том, что любовь была.