With some people there is such a thing as the habit of betrayal.
People bring to what they see and feel, the inner weather of their souls and complexion of their minds.
Love can never explain the loved one, my dear. It is the essence of wild unreason.
The rice bowl is to me the most valid reason in the world for doing anything. A piece of one's soul to the multitudes in return for rice and wine does not seem to me a sacrilege.
People never think about words, they only feel them.
We are all products of our time, vulnerable to history.