Poets arguing about modern poetry: jackals snarling over a dried-up well.

Our memories are card indexes consulted and then returned in disorder by authorities whom we do not control.

Nothing dates like hate and in literature a little of it goes a very long way.

All charming people have something to conceal, usually their total dependence on the appreciation of others.

In my religion all believers would stop work at sundown and have a drink together.

The disasters of the world are due to its inhabitants not being able to grow old simultaneously. There is always a raw and intolerant nation eager to destroy the tolerant and mellow.

The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.