Round and round we spin, with feet of lead and wings of tin.

Man is vile, and man makes nothing worth making, knows nothing worth knowing.

there i was in late middle age, cut loose in a thoroughly looted, bankrupt nation whose assets had been sold off to foreigners, a nation swamped by unchecked plagues and superstition and illiteracy and hypnotic tv, with virtually no health services for the poor. where to go? what to do?

Well, it's practically over, thank God - I'm 83, there won't be that much more of it to put up with I don't think!

Contemplating a purported work of art is a social activity. Either you have a rewarding time, or you don't. You don't have to say why afterward. You don't have to say anything.

Humor is a way of holding off how awful life can be, to protect yourself.

If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.