One cleans someone else's threshold of consciousness only if one's own home is dirty.
Not greeting people isn't enough. One also doesn't greet people one doesn't know.
Ingratitude is often disproportionate to the benefaction received.
Nationalism is the love which ties me to the blockheads of my country, to the insultors of my way of life, and to the desecrators of my language.
In a well-run mental household there ought to be a thorough cleaning at the threshold of consciousness a few times a year.
A writer is someone who can make a riddle out of an answer.