I love the idea of bringing order out of disorder which is what the mystery is about. I like the way in which it affirms the sanity of human life and exorcises irrational guilts.

What was so terrible about grief was not grief itself, but that one got over it.

The great tragedy of Alzheimer’s disease, and the reason why we dread it, is that it leaves us with no defence, not even against those who love us.

Perfect love may cast our fear, but fear is remarkably potent in casting out love.

I knew the facts of death before I knew the facts of life. There never was a time when I didn’t see the skull beneath the skin.

I can understand the poor and stupid voting for Marxism or one of its fashionable variants. If you’ve no hope of being other than a slave, you may as well opt for the most efficient form of slavery.

It’s possible to fight intolerance, stupidity and fanaticism when they come separately. When you get all three together it’s probably wiser to get out, if only to preserve your sanity.

It’s easy to get a reputation for wisdom. It’s only necessary to live long, speak little and do less.

I am fifty years old and I have never known what it is to love. I can write those words, know them to be true, but feel only the regret that a tone-deaf man must feel because he can’t appreicate music, a regret less keen because it is for something never known, not for something lost.

A regime which combines perpetual surveillance with total indulgence is hardly conducive to healthy development.