I loathe the expression “What makes him tick.” It is the American mind, looking for simple and singular solutions, that uses the foolish expression. A person not only ticks, he also chimes and strikes the hour, falls and breaks and has to be put together again, and sometimes stops like an electric clock in a thunderstorm.

The past is an old armchair in the attic, the present an ominous ticking sound, and the future is anybody's guess.

The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.

But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion? What is the matter with the soft Darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?

A husband should not insult his wife publicly, at parties. He should insult her in the privacy of the home.

All men kill the thing they hate, too, unless, of course, it kills them first.

I love the idea of there being two sexes, don't you?