Sometimes it seems to me that in this absurdly random life, there is some inherent justice in the outcome of personal relationships. In the long run, we get no more than we have been willing to risk giving. We get to keep no more than we earn by our own efforts. In a way, we each get what we deserve. Everyone is entitled to keep as much garbage as he is willing to put out or to put up with.

There is an old saying that whenever two Jews meet, if one has a problem, the other automatically becomes a rabbi.

Now I cared, now that it was too late. The other men in group mourned Norman as they might a handicapped brother who had died, a child lost somehow because no one knew how to ask him where it hurt.

Again and again I find that my own inner counselor, my secret dreaming self, is not only wise and helpful but usually amusing as well.

He may only get to keep that which he is willing to let go of.

Each person’s only hope for improving his lot rests on recognizing the true nature of his or her basic personality, surrendering to it, and becoming who he or she really is.

It has been a long time since I believed in Reality. I prefer the loveliness and the terror of my subjective experiences to those coldly scientific explanations which in the long run turn out to be no more real, and far less fun, than my own fantasies and musings.

And should I wear my mask too long, when I take it off and try to discard it, I may find that I have thrown my face away with it.

In a way, we each get what we deserve. Everyone is entitled to keep as much garbage as he is willing to put out or to put up with.

Openness to my own dreams puts me in touch with the oldest, most human aspects of who I am; it helps me find my place in the community of man.