Aristotle says that metaphor causes the mind to experience itself in the act of making a mistake.
Desire doubled is love and love doubled is madness.
To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.
No one will ever make necessity not happen.
Each night about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing.
The Greek language seems different than other languages. I'm not the only person to think this. Usually, I come up with some kind of dopey metaphor for why it's different. But it seems, somehow, more original, more like being in the morning of language.