People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones that passed it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.

Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.

Frequent and violent temptations were a proof that the citadel of the soul had not fallen and that the devil raged to make it fall.

One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot.

As I am. As I am. All or not at all.

Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.