You beat the liver out of a goose to get a pâté; you pound the muscles of a man's cardia to get a philosopher.
The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
God, children know something they can't tell; they like Red Riding Hood and the wolf in bed!
We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.
Love is the first lie; wisdom the last.
And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?