Recently added

She wanted to crawl into his arms and be soothed, and soothe him in return, and forget all the grand ideas she’d ever had about true love, and the necessity for it. Because true love was a load of baloney. Finding a good friend...a good friend who trusted you...was more than enough.

“Still feeling guilty, are we? I’d have thought you’d be over that by now.”

“I have a nettlesome little thing called a conscience,” Emily hissed. “Ever hear of it?”

“They’re out of fashion in New York,” Stanton said, and though she guessed she was joking, he didn’t sound humorous.

"Are stories true?"

"Which ones?"

"The mermaid mother and Hansel and Gretel and all them."

"Well," says Ma, "not literally."

"What's—"

"They're magic, they're not about real people walking around today."

"So they're fake?"

"No, no. Stories are a different kind of true."

Every object, the old man had said, is but an interpretation of every other object. There is no sure knowledge, only endless process.

I submit that all psychotherapy is manipulation; that as psychiatrists we do not heal people, but manipulate their neuroses into functional modes.

It was easy to see how one could think of the family as a single terrible creature stretching back through time, some genetic flaw or chemical magic binding the spirit to the blood.

It's called mind over matter. If we don't mind, it doesn't matter.

When I was a little kid I thought like a little kid, but now I'm five I know everything.

"Scared is what you're feeling," says Ma, "but brave is what you're doing."

“It’s not hope,” said Jocundra. “It’s just confusion. I know he’s dead.”

“Sure it’s hope,” said Mr. Brisbeau. “Me, I ain’t no genius, but I can tell you ‘bout hope. When my boy he’s missin’ in action, I live wit hope for ten damn years. It’s the cruelest thing in the world. If it get a hook in you, maybe it never let you go no matter how hopeless things really is.” He closed up the sack and laughed. “I remember what my grand-mère used to say ’round breakfas’ time. My brother John he’s always after her to fix pancakes. Firs’ ting ever’ mornin’ he say, ‘Well, I hope we’re goin’ to have pancakes.’ And my grand-mère she tell him jus’ be glad his belly’s full, him, and then she say, ‘You keep your hope for tomorrow, boy, ’cause we got grits for today.’” He stood and shouldered the sack. “Maybe that’s all there is to some kinds of hopin’. It makes them grits go down easier.”

Technology doesn’t create prosperity any more than it destroys privacy.

We should all have access to the mathematical knowledge and tools needed to protect us from arbitrary decisions made by the powerful few in an increasingly math-driven world. Where there is no mathematics, there is no freedom.