Men who believe that the way to the mind is not by way of ice picks through the brain or large dosages of dangerous medicine but through an honest reckoning of the self.

Happiness doesn't lie in conspicuous consumption and the relentless amassing of useless crap. Happiness lies in the person sitting beside you and your ability to talk to them. Happiness is clear-headed human interaction and empathy. Happiness is home. And home is not a house-home is a mythological conceit. It is a state of mind. A place of communion and unconditional love. It is where, when you cross its threshold, you finally feel at peace.

I go on the presumption that everyone's full of shit until proven otherwise, and this usually serves me in good stead.

There are so many more important things to worry about than how you're perceived by strangers.

We live in a world of disposable memory, nothing's built to last, not even shame.

Do you know the primary difference between men and gods? ... Gods don__ think they can become men