The past goes right on pulling me apart, though I can scarcely remember the people or the issues.
Your flattery is as full of contempt as your insults were.
A small boy puts his hand on the wall, and looks down intently as he wriggles his toes. The birth of thought?
My passions have never jumped out of the fireplace and set fire to the carpet.
The morose one refuses to smile even when he has just had his teeth cleaned.
The limitations of pleasure cannot be overcome by more pleasure.