'Why do you doubt your senses?' [asks Marley's Ghost] 'Because,' said Scrooge, 'a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!'

'Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.' 'Come, then,' returned the nephew gaily. 'What right …

'You are fettered,' said Scrooge, trembling. 'Tell me why?' 'I wear the chain I forged in life,' replied the Ghost. 'I made it link by link, and yard by yard; …

I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.

The world is like a ride at an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goe…

Depression presents itself as a realism regarding the rottenness of the world in general and the rottenness of your life in particular.

The motion of the stars over our heads is as much an illusion as that of the cows, trees and churches that flash past the windows of our train.