The contrast between the familiar and the exceptional was everywhere around me. A bullock cart was drawn up beside a modern sports car at a traffic signal. A man squatted to relieve himself behind the discreet shelter of a satellite dish. An electric forklift truck was being used to unload goods from an ancient wooden cart with wooden wheels. The impression was of a plodding indefatigable and distant past that had crashed intact through barriers of time into its own future. I liked it.

We live on because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.

Anything that can be put in a nut shell should remain there.

Every life, every love, every action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance: its beginning, and the part it plays in the end. Sometimes, we do see.

Fanatics have the look of people who do not masturbate but who think about it almost all time.

There's no such thing as forever.

The man grinned back at me with that perfect sincerity we fear and call simple-minded.