My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out.

God made food; the devil the cooks.

This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.

He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.

What kind of liberation would that be to forsake an absurdity which is logical and coherent and to embrace one which is illogical and incoherent?

Places remember events.

Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eons of the gods.