Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils |
For what is liberty but the unhampered translation of will into act? |
Greed, like the love of comfort, is a kind of fear. |
Green leaves on a dead tree is our epitaph -- green leaves, dear reader, on a dead tree. |
Hate is the consequence of fear; we fear something before we hate it; a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise. |
He could not blow his nose without moralizing on the state of the handkerchief industry |
I have always disliked myself at any given moment; the total of such moments is my life |
I review novels to make money, because it is easier for a sluggard to write an article a fortnight than a book a year, because the writer is soothed by the opiate of action, the crank by posing as a good journalist, and having an air hole. I dislike |
Idleness is only a coarse name for my infinite capacity for living in the present. |
If our elaborate and dominating bodies are given us to be denied at every turn, if our nature is always wrong and wicked, how ineffectual we are - like fishes not meant to swim |
Imagination equals nostalgia for the past, the absent; it is the liquid solution in which art develops the snapshot of reality |
Imprisoned in every fat man a thin man is wildly signaling to be let out. |
Imprisoned in every fat man a thin one is wildly signaling to be let out |
In the sex war, thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male, vindictiveness of the female. |
In the sex war, thoughtlessness is the weapon of the male, vindictiveness of the female. |