“You write to find out what you believe.”

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

The child..will try to make himself..independent of other people. .

To our grudge against our mothers; the way we never let our mothers off the hook for their not meeting our every need.

The child [uses] ‘doubt about food to hide doubt about love.’

Sanity, in other words, becomes a pressing preoccupation as soon as we recognize the importance of recognition.

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

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

We are tyrannized by our blind spots, and by whatever it is about ourselves that we find unacceptable.

It is as if to say: if these are not valued – if these forms of wanting and feeling and speaking and doing – are not cultivated and encouraged and rewarded in the child, then the child will be mad.

People change, but there really are limits.

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

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

We are children for a very long time.

The vocabulary of one’s self-criticism is so impoverished and clichéd.

we are continually under threat from what we are unwilling and/or unable to see.

When we define ourselves by what we can recognize, by what we can comprehend- rather than, say, by what we can describe