And perhaps there is none, no morrow anymore, for one who has waited so long for it in vain. And perhaps he has come to that stage of his instant when to live is to wander the last of the living in the depths of an instant without bounds, where the light never changes and the wrecks all look alike. Bluer scarcely than white of egg the eyes stare into the space before them, namely the fullness of the great deep and unchanging calm. But at long intervals they close, with the gentle suddenness of flesh that tightens, often without anger, and closes on itself.

No child should ever be too sad to play.

I am who I am because the tears of my past have watered the magnificence of my present.

I must be happy, he said, it is less pleasant than I should have thought.

The amusements of life, he argued, should be accepted with the same philosophy as its ills. ("The Striding Place")

The more people I meet the happier I become.