Barbershop conversations are irrefutable proof that heads exist for the sake of hair.

I trim my opponents to fit my arrows.

It is the style of idealism to console itself for the loss of something old with the ability to gape at something new.

Let my style capture all the sounds of my time. This should make it an annoyance to my contemporaries. But later generations should hold it to their ears like a seashell in which there is the music of an ocean of mud.

It is a mystery to me how a theologian can be praised for having brought himself to disbelieve dogmas. I've always thought that those who have brought themselves to believe in dogmas merit the true recognition owing a heroic deed.

My language is the common prostitute that I turn into a virgin.

To be sure, the dog is loyal. But why, on that account, should we take him as an example? He is loyal to man, not to other dogs.