Wars and elections are both too big and too small to matter in the long run.
To die quickly in one's eighth decade at the very top of one's powers is an enviable end, and not an occasion for mourning.
I will try to cram these paragraphs full of facts and give them a weight and shape no greater than that of a cloud of blue butterflies.
Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious.
Parody is homage gone sour.
The ingenuities we practice in order to appear admirable to ourselves would suffice to invent the telephone twice over on a rainy summer morning.