Rilla May

An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.

Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.

Everything is relative in this world, where change alone endures.

The little I know I owe to my ignorance.

In the end, you’re just a renter anyway. You only own these things for as long as you live. After that, who knows? If I live until I’m 80, I’ll have 30 more years of collecting. If the collection is big enough, I’ll build a museum. And if not, I’ll leave it to a museum.

I’d never met a woman I considered as intelligent as me. That sounds bigheaded, but every woman I met was either a dolly-chick, or a sort of screwed-up intellectual chick. And of course, in the field I was in, I didn’t meet many intellectual people anyway. I always had this dream of meeting an artist, an artist girl who would be like me. And I thought it was a myth, but then I met Yoko and that was it.

Love is knowing every goodbye has a hello on the horizon.

A man can’t ‘just be friends’ with another woman. Period.

They ask me how I love you and I say in pages, in novels, in volumes. I love you like my favorite story, the one that I wake up to every day and watch unfold. And I don’t know how it ends, but I know your name is already written in the chapters of my life that I have yet to live.

People cannot discover new lands until they have the courage to lose sight of the shore.

It’s so much easier to tell people what they want to hear instead of what they need to hear.

How many legs does a dog have, if you call the tail a leg? Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg.

As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot.

Little difficulties are made to swell until they fill our horizon while the real big blessings of life are dwindled down to nothing.

Blood banks are all closed; you can’t use others to keep you warm.