If modesty disappeared, so would exhibitionism.
Kafka: cries of helplessness in twenty powerful volumes.
Logic and fact keep interfering with the easy flow of conversation.
Malice is always authentic and sincere.
Minds will wander even during the Last Judgment.
My mind is led astray by every faint rustle.
My passions have never jumped out of the fireplace and set fire to the carpet.
Never try to leap from a standstill.
Observe decorum, and it will open a path to morality.
Often, when I want to consult my impulses, I cannot find them.
Old age: I fall asleep during the funerals of my friends.
Old and young disbelieve one another's truths.
People believe that photographs are true and therefore cannot be art.
Philosophy likes to keen common sense on the run.
Reason enables us to get around in the world of ideas, but cannot prescribe our thoughts.
Reputation runs behind the current state of affairs.
Staid middle age loves the hurricane passions of opera.
Stated clearly enough, an idea may cancel itself out.
The horse stares at its captor, barely remembering the free kicks of youth.
The man of sensibility is too busy talking about his feelings to have time for good deeds.
The sage belongs to the same obsolete repertory as the virtuous maiden and the enlightened monarch.
Thinking about the universe has now been handed over to specialists. The rest of us merely read about it.
Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris.
Unlike the actual, the fictional explains itself.
We are more tied to our faults than to our virtues.
