Eat and carouse with Bacchus, or munch dry bread with Jesus, but don't sit down without one of the gods.

A house o' women is as dead as a house wi' no fire, to my thinkin'. I'm not a spider as likes to corner myself. I like a man about, if he's only something to snap at.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

Only the flow matters; live and let live, love and let love. There is no point in love.

The world is a raving idiot, and no man can kill it: though I’ll do my best. But you’re right. We must rescue ourselves as best we can.

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.

The day of the absolute is over, and we're in for the strange gods once more.