Only the opium eater truly understands the pain of death.

I do not understand the capricious lewdness of the sleeping mind.

People look for morals in fiction because there has always been a confusion between fiction and philosophy.

For these are not as they might seem to be, the ruins of our civilization, but are temporary encampment and outposts of the civilization that we - you and I - shall build.

The deep joy we take in the company of people with whom we have just recently fallen in love is undisguisable.

The organizations of men, like men themselves, seem subject to deafness, near-sightedness, lameness, and involuntary cruelty. We seem tragically unable to help one another, to understand one another.

Then it is dark; it is a night where kings in golden suits ride elephants over the mountains.