The secret of survival is a defective imagination.
All a work of art can do is present the surface. I can't know the insides of people. I know very little about the inside of myself.
Sleep is uncanny, I have always found it so, a nightly dress-rehearsal for being dead.
I'm a hopeless 19th-century romantic.
Perhaps all of life is no more than a long preparation for the leaving of it.
The sentence is the greatest human invention of civilization.