The life of pleasure breeds boredom. The life of duty breeds resentment.
Writing about an idea frees me of it. Thinking about it is a circle of repetitions.
Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.
My father was a patriarch inside a matriarchy, but never knew it.
Intelligence in isolation turns to aimless marauding.
The sentimental want to be thrilled by everything.