Dying people often become childish.
How many women does one need to sing the scale of love all the way up and down?
Only one thing abides: an infinite beauty that passes from form to form, eternally changed and revealed afresh.
One must love humanity in order to reach out into the unique essence of each individual: no one can be too low or too ugly.
The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.
People like us are unhappy in this world and in the next, I guess if we made it to heaven, we'd have to help make it thunder.