Lying just for the fun of it is either art or pathology.
Street sign: Ho Hum Road & Easy Street In retirement, I look for days off from my days off.
Fastidious taste makes enjoyment a struggle.
Money: power at its most liquid.
Even alone we go on justifying ourselves.
Alone, lonely people talk to themselves. In company, they often continue.
The beloved is the ultimate fetish.
The body has a mind of its own.
The passion for money is never fickle.
Self-reform is the only kind that works.
Consciousness is our only reprieve from Time.
The ravaged face in the mirror hides the enchanting youth that is the real me.
Bravery despite defeat is praiseworthy. Victory despite cowardice is beyond praise.
Looking backward at what has been lost, I feel sad, then indifferent, and at last relieved.
Sometimes the given seems like something taken away.
Attachments and bereavements are inseparable.
Since we hate the same people, we should be friends.
Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.
When love ends, we cry out against destiny. When friendship ends, we cry out against our friend.
An ardent lover often makes a cold friend.
Sleepy-head is no longer aroused by tragic imaginings.
English has borrowed from everywhere and now goes everywhere.
Unlike the ambiguity of life, the ambiguity of language does reach a limit.
History takes place between the Fall and the Apocalypse, with a narrow escape route called Salvation.
Truth-telling frightens me. Lying confuses me.
