Everybody is dealing with how much of their own aliveness they can bear and how much they need to anesthetize themselves.

To grow up is to discover what one is unequal to.

You write to find out what you believe.

The vocabulary of one’s self-criticism is so impoverished and clichéd. We are at our most stupid in our self-hatred.

People change, but there really are limits. One thing you discover in psychoanalytic treatment is the limits of what you can change about yourself or your life. We are children for a very long time.

There is always a ..belief that by destroying the thing that we love we destroy our needs

The child..will try to make himself..independent of other people. .. Excesses of appetite are self-cures for feelings of hopelessness. ..The child [uses] ‘doubt about food to hide doubt about love.’

Transgression is a quest for solitude

Tragic heroes are failed pragmatists. Their ends are unrealistic and their means are impractical.

There is nothing more terrorizing than the possibility that nothing is hidden. There is nothing more scandalous than a happy marriage

I am always true to myself, that is the problem. Who else could I be true to?

The child can find out what the object ..might be only by finding ..obstacles to its access

Believing in religion is like believing that adulthood is the solution to childhood.

Monogamy is a way of getting the versions of ourselves down to the minimum.

Lovers, of course, are notoriously frantic epistemologists, second only to paranoiacs (and analysts) as readers of signs and wonders.

The big secret about Art is that no one wants it to be true.

We have been taught to wish for it, but the wish to be understood may be our most vengeful demand, may be the way we hang on, as adults , to our grudge against our mothers the way we never let our mothers off the hook for their not meeting our every need. Wanting to be understood, as adults, can be our most violent form of nostalgia.

The past influences everything and dictates nothing.