When sages commend excess, Desire is sick.

Suspense combines curiosity with fear and pulls them up a rising slope.

Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.

The interest in Wisdom is fading. Soon there will not be enough left to support the aphorism, even though it tries to amuse by half-mocking the Wisdom it propounds.

Rescue someone unwilling to look after himself, and he will cling to you like a dangerous illness.

Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris.

My mother wanted to shrink from my clinging, but did not.