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.

Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.

Children must be educated by love, not punishment.

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.

What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

Love me. Love my umbrella.

Always see a fellows weak point in his wife.