You beat the liver out of a goose to get a pรขtรฉ; you pound the muscles of a man's cardia to get a philosopher.
For most people, life is nasty, brutish, and short; for me, it has simply been nasty and brutish.
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
To love without criticism is to be betrayed.
Life, the permission to know death.
One must not look inward too much, while the inside is yet tender. I do not wish to frighten myself until I can stand it.