Judith Guest (born March 29, 1936) is an American novelist and screenwriter. She was born in Detroit, Michigan and is the great-niece of Poet Laureate Edgar Guest (1881–1959).[1] She is a recipient of the Janet Heidinger Kafka Prize. (wikipedia)
Autonomy is the whole thing; it's what unhappy people are missing. They have given the power to run their lives to other people.
Riding the train gives him too much time to think, he has decided. Too much thinking can ruin you.
Feeling is not selective, I keep telling you that. You can’t feel pain, you aren’t gonna feel anything else, either.
Depending on the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.
Life is not a series of pathetic, meaningles actions. Some of them are so far from pathetic, so far from meaningless as to be beyond reason, maybe beyond forgiveness.
I can write for a long time on one novel and not get tired.
I think living the blessed life is the luck of the draw.
I've never been one to tear the social fabric.
It's true that every day away from work requires two more days to get back into it.
My success is not who I am.