Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates

It's Pointless To Cry. One Is Born And Dies Alone.

I Am The Captain Of My Destiny, I Do Not Abandon The Ship In Hard Times, But, I Do Have Sense Enough Not To Go Down With The Ship.

Anchorites Used To Ill-treat Themselves In The Way They Did, So That The Common People Would Not Begrudge Them The Beatitude They Would Enjoy In Heaven.

The Whole Problem Of Life, Then, Is This: How To Break Out Of One's Own Loneliness, How To Communicate With Others.

Many Men On The Point Of An Edifying Death Would Be Furious If They Were Suddenly Restored To Health.