Fantasy mirrors desire. Imagination reshapes it.
Ideas about life organize perception; names of emotions organize sensations; rules of syntax organize thought. But pain comes on its own.
Since we hate the same people, we should be friends.
Everyone makes sexy sounds; relatively few, sexy sights.
Conscience is the moralized form of self-absorption.
Like a frog, the aphorist waits for something to fly by that he can catch with his tongue.