To spend our days betting on three-legged horses with beautiful names
It's interesting how young poets think of death while old fogies think of girls.
He was a gentle and sensitive soul, and therefore had a short temper, which is why he went straight after everything with an ax.
I expect them to tell me things about myself I don't know.
I was always lucky in my bad luck.
... because real thoughts come from outside and travel with us like the noodle soup we take to work; in other words, inquisitors burn books in vain. If a book has anything to say, it burns with a quiet laugh, because any book worth its salt points up and out of itself.