It is not enough for me to ask question; I want to know how to answer the one question that seems to encompass everything I face: What am I here for?

When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people.

If you ask me a question I don't know, I'm not going to answer it

A test of a people is how it behaves toward the old. It is easy to love children. Even tyrants and dictators make a point of being fond of children. But the affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless are the true gold mines of a culture.

But whenever I look at the question of how to live, the answer's always staring me in the face. I'm already doing it.

I'm obsessive. I want to know the answer to how good I am. Most people aren't.