At sixty, I would like to give my future back its vistas of uncertainty.
Every representation, even of an orgy, is a sublimation.
A sense of absurdity interferes with my efforts to appear venerable.
Irony dissolves sentiment, but occasionally a sentiment is strong enough to dissolve irony.
Hatred of the mother is familiar, but the mother's hatred still comes as a surprise.
Reversing a proposition rearranges its terms, but still keeps out new terms.