If God hadn't rested on Sunday, He would have had time to finish the world.

Over the weekend the vultures got into the presidential palace by pecking through the screens on the balcony windows and the flapping of their wings stirred up the stagnant time inside, and at dawn on Monday the city awoke out of its lethargy of centuries with the warm, soft breeze of a great man dead and rotting grandeur.

At some point, you no longer feel pain. Sensation disappears and reason is dulled, until you lose all grasp of time and place.

This was his world, he said to himself, the sad, oppressive world that God had provided for him, and he was responsible to it.

If God hadn't rested on Sunday, He would have had time to finish the world.

An early-rising man is a good spouse but a bad husband.

He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.