The very madness of the scheme protects it.
The chief requirement of the good life, is to live without any image of oneself.
Food is a profound subject and one, incidentally, about which no writer lies.
My heart was beating like an army on the march.
Socrates wrote nothing. Christ wrote nothing.
The human soul is not framed for continued proximity, and the result of this enforced neighbourhood is often an appalling loneliness for which the rules of the game forbid assuagement.